Lady Be Good
by nycforme
Summary: This story follows the life of Christine Daae from the young age of 14 where she works in a brothel after her father's death, to when she works as a maid for the Vicomte de Chagny, to finally when a mysterious angel at an opera house picks her to protect and love. A cycle of heartbreak and pain is one that only she can break as she struggles to live free and happy. Sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

**Complete Summary: **

**Christine Daae's father died when she fourteen years old and she was forced to work in a brothel from that very young age. As she grows older she escapes to find a better life for herself and finds herself working in the house of and in love with the Vicomte de Chagny. Misfortune strikes again, but this time an angel is there to catch Christine in her time of need. Time and time again her mysterious angel is there as a source of support and protection. Yet the identity of her angel slowly unravels, leaving Christine wondering if this Phantom of the Opera could possibly be the impassioned lover and musician she so fully trusts with her voice, body, and soul.**

**Author's Note: **

**This story is already completed, I'm posting as I go through and edit with the help of oktimenation, so updates should be pretty regular. There's a lot of mature content in this story, starting off from the first few chapters but the content gets lighter throughout though still includes mature sexual content and language from beginning to end. There will, of course, be warnings at the top of chapters that include extreme violent or sexual content.**

**This prologue includes sexual content. Trigger Warning: sexual abuse.**

When she was first taken into Madame Rouge's care she was no older than fourteen, dressed in rags with nothing but her father's violin in possession; a free room for a month in exchange for the violin, her only earthly reminder of her father, seemed fair. He was dead and gone and it saddened her to depart with the beautiful instrument, she'd already sold its expensive case in exchange for a carriage ride into town after his funeral, but she forced herself to remember that Papa would be proud of her for taking care of herself. His dying wish was her happiness and she would not disappoint him, whatever it cost to survive is what she would pay.

After a month, Christine started working in exchange for the attic space she was granted. She didn't work like the other girls, at only fourteen she was still awkward and undesirable to the type of men who came into the brothel, instead she worked as seemingly everything else. Between long nights as the barmaid and long days of cleaning the disgustingly soiled laundry from the bedrooms, Christine found herself in a constant state of exhaustion. For a year she worked herself to the bone, still wearing the rags that she'd had when she first arrived, she was even skinnier, once luscious hair was now duller, green eyes sunken into pale skin, but somehow still growing more desirable to the men who visited. In the early afternoons, when most of the occupants of the brothel were dead drunk or asleep after a long shift, Christine would stand in front of the lengthy mirror in the largest bedroom and contemplate what exactly it was a customer would want her body for.

Trying to keep her blooming curves hidden, in fear that the Madame would set her into the business sooner than she hoped, Christine performed most of her duties while staying as far back in the shadows as possible. Cooking, preparing the other girls' makeup and clothes, cleaning the Madame's personal office and bedroom, prepping the rooms for the paying customers—there was never a moment of silence for the young girl. By Christmas of her fifteenth year, when she sat in the attic curled up in her raggedy shawl and staring out the small window and up toward the stars hidden by the heavy snow clouds, Christine came to the realization that there was no way out of her situation. For a year she'd walked around a mummy, dead on the inside and nonchalant on the outside, she performed her duties quietly and did not like to bring attention to herself. On the inside, however, she was waiting, always waiting.

Waiting for her father to walk through the tavern doors one night and pull her into his warm arms, place a kiss upon her brow and carry her away from this hell hole. On Christmas as she stared up at the concealed stars, Christine came to terms with her father's death and she wept. She wept for the entirety of the day, crying into the tub she used for laundry, muffling sobs as she lit the lanterns around the room before the usual time the customers rushed in, and sniveling into her pillow as she lay exhausted upon the thin mattress she'd been given a year ago. Her father had been dead a year and what progress had she made in life? Absolutely none, her father would not be proud at all.

On her sixteenth birthday Christine was called into the Madame's personal office. It was not a place she'd ever liked, the chair was draped in a blanket of bear fur with the frightening head still attached, cheap red leather lined a desk littered with empty rum bottles, and behind the desk was a window draped in thick red curtains. The glass looked out onto the front of the establishment so that if the Madame ever heard horse hooves or the sound of carriage wheels, she would be able to identify the rich man who would come slinking into the building. Most of the daily customers couldn't afford to travel by horse or carriage, and came by foot, drenched in sweat and reeking of their own musty body odor.

The Madame herself had changed little since Christine had first met her, Christine had been referred to the place by the carriage driver who took her from her father's funeral. She'd asked for a motel and ended up in a brothel, too exhausted to leave upon arrival and too poor to leave after a month, Christine found herself trapped in a place where she worked like a slave for little money or kindness. The Madame towered over Christine by at least eight inches, she was not the curvaceous woman many expected her to be when they heard of her title, but rather an extremely gaunt woman with bony shoulders and a beak for a nose. She glared down at all with raven eyes, her red nails a shocking contrast to the bleached white of her frizzed hair that looked ready to engulf her thin face. Thin lips were obscenely slick with red lipstick, what little breasts she had were close to popping out of her corset, the slit up the side of her dress revealed skinny legs that paced up and down the length of the foyer as she helped customers find the girl that would bring them the most pleasure. Madame Rouge was a business woman above all else, a business woman who knew sex, who liked sex, who aimed to please by giving good sex to all that could pay the price.

On her sixteenth birthday, Christine was told she could no longer stay in the shabby room of the attic in exchange for simple house duties.

"You will work like a real woman from now on and earn your keep, just like all the other girls. If you'd like we can move you down into a regular bedroom." The thought made her nauseous, still a virgin who had yet to receive her first kiss, the thought of sex was terrifying. The thought of sex with a stranger was even more terrifying, and being expected to live in a room where that act happened dozens of times a day made her even sicker. Christine shook her head, slightly woozy she felt the blood leave her face as she avoided the Madame's eyes. The news had somehow come as such a shock that she felt numbed from the pain, as if she was watching this horrific news be delivered to some other poor soul. She was no fool, in the two years since she'd come to live in that horrid place she had taken the time to peak in on what exactly the paying customers expected of the women. It was never anything less than gruesome.

"Fine, you can keep your attic. I'll expect good work out of you, you're young. You'll have good stamina; you've nothing to worry about."

"But who will keep up with the house duties?" Christine's voice was hoarse, tears tightened her throat and she tried to keep them from spilling over as she felt the penetrating gaze that meant scrutiny was coming. Green eyes concentrated on the thin material of her brown skirt as she listened to her fate be dealt to her from a cruel, uncaring woman. Hatred bubbled in her, but confusion and terror numbed the heat of it.

"I have a stable boy who's willing to do it for a small raise, certainly less than for what I was paying you. You'll take a bath and let Emilie dress you; I've bought you something nice to wear for your first night. Wasn't that nice of me?" Arguing would prove pointless, if Christine wanted a good beating then all she had to do was shake her head in disagreement. Considering she liked her limbs intact and her eyes without purple bruises, Christine nodded her head in agreement and left the office numbly.

Her thin figure floated by the Madame's band of hunchmen, brainless muscular men who had no problem beating up on the whores—on us, Christine corrected herself—for disobeying Madame Rouge's orders or beating up on disobedient, unruly, or unpaying customers. Their names were a mystery to Christine; she knew them only by appearance as she'd never heard them talk more than grunts to each other. There was the tall one with the eye patch who used a knife to clean out from under his finger nails, the fat bald one who resembled a large baby too much too intimidate her with more than his horrific odor of sweat and piss, and then there was the man that the girls referred to as Apple. He was medium height with red hair and a long neck that was covered in the freckles that dawned just about every inch of his visible skin, he was known for having his way with the girls while keeping a knife to their throats to keep them silent, even though the Madame had told him it was fine to have his way with them, his threat was for his own personal pleasure. Apple was undoubtedly the leader of the group.

The lobby itself was a clean place, this Madame insisted upon, as customers would only pay high prices if appearances were kept up. In fact, the entire building was a cleanly place; the only dirtiness there was between the sheets, or against the walls, atop the couches. The girls were kept clean, as were their clothes and bedrooms, it would have been a nice place if everything else about it had changed. Although dark and often bustling with noisy customers demanding more liquor and faster, the foyer was one of the best places to spend time in the building. Except for her little attic, that was most definitely Christine's favorite place. No one went up there; it held her bed, her clothes, and the one thing from her past that she'd kept after all this time. Two years had passed slowly and everything from the loving life she once led had fallen away to reveal the horrible present, but nothing could remove the two creased sheets of music paper she kept hidden under her pillow. The song her father had written and named after her, she hadn't heard it in over three years now, but of what she could remember, it was the most beautiful piece of music she'd ever heard.

The young woman was in the habit of living in a dream land, a world where her father still existed and loved her dearly. This was just her day job, she would reassure herself when dealing with difficult situations, she would be able to leave at the end of the day and go home to her loving father and a warm cooked meal. This dream world was shattered on her sixteenth birthday, a day that should have been filled with love and joy was now filled with horror and disgust. She was doused with icy water and then tied up in an ill-fitting green dress. It wasn't to her liking at all, the corset was uncomfortable on her chest and made it hard to breathe, she felt exposed and vulnerable when she realized she had no talent for walking in heals, and when her hair was pulled up to reveal her slender neck and pale skin she felt so naked that she sat in front of the mirror and cried. Emilie, an older, detached woman who had no liking for any of the girls, let alone the sobbing mess of a virgin, had slapped her cheek to silence her before applying Christine's heavy eye makeup for her. The woman in the mirror was not the innocent, young Christine Daae that her father had written music for or told ghost stories to. The woman in the mirror was a whore, and she had no say in the matter.

Her first experience with a man was horrifying, but she looked back on it with the knowledge that it could have been much worse. The man who took her was not overly large or overly small, he was simply average. He did not reek of onions or his own sweat, he did not smell much at all but of the scent of cheap cologne she'd smelt only when her father had performed at circuses and carnivals. Not gentle or rough, loud or silent, the time he took moving above her frightened frame was short, he did not press lying kisses to her skin. In fact, looking back on it, he was one of the easiest customers Christine would ever have to deal with. He'd used her body like he needed, cleaned himself in the wash at the end of the bed, had left a coin (her tip, Emilie had explained later that she could keep tips for herself) on the night stand then left.

Nobody explained the horrible burn between her legs, or the blood that had soiled the bedspread that he hadn't even pulled back, nobody cared to explain to her how to wash herself to ensure she wouldn't become pregnant after this horrible act. She was congratulated for neither her bravery nor strong stomach, but rather the ability to make her breasts appear larger than they were. Starving, Christine Daae curled up in the bed in the attic after the worst birthday of her life with stickiness between her legs, tears upon her cheeks, and a silver coin tucked into the music her father had written for her. She prayed for an angel that she knew would never come, and then she prayed for death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Reviews would be appreciated!**

**Trigger Warning: Sexual abuse, violence, and language.**

Christine was not popular amongst the men, for this she was grateful. Too passive, she was bland in bed; she felt no reason to perform well if they were going to pay the price she'd given anyways. She learned quickly what type of men was worth trying with, that was the man who tipped, and he was the man dressed well and who tasted of wine instead of rum. Only then did Christine bother to fake moans or pull at their hair, otherwise she would thrust lazily and keep her eyes closed and lips pliant. Her dream land had sprung back to life, but it had taken many new forms. Now she dreamt of a man who loved her, who brought pleasure to her, who didn't twist her nipples with wrinkled fingers or pull her hair as she bobbed between his thighs. She dreamt of a tall, blonde man with blue eyes, the type of man who wore silk in his breast pocket and would never dream of coming to a place like this. The type of man who would offer his arm to her on afternoon strolls, who would allow her to sleep at night in a grand bed full of luscious pillows, and even bathe in a bathtub that could hold enough water to cover her entire body. Christine was broken from this dream when her customer slapped her across the face, before squeezing her cheeks tightly.

"Bitch, you'll look at me when I cum in you!" It was a demand she heard often, that did not send her into a fit of rage like it had the first time she heard it. Eyes opened and unimpressed, Christine watched the man's contorted face before he fell into a sweaty heap atop her, mouth sending hot air across her chest.

"Thanks, doll."

It was a bronze coin that landed on her naked breast before he slammed the door behind him. Working at nights was difficult, because it left her exhausted and with the only option to sleep during the day, so she had no idea how these customers came and exhausted themselves then went on to lead normal lives in the morning. She wished to understand where man's endless strength from, she wished to possess all the strength in the world in the morning. That morning she would add the coin to her stash, counting up what little money she had. Having no plan but one of escape and no dreams but of love and freedom, Christine Daae decided in that moment that she was going to run away. Where she would go she had no idea and how she would travel, again she was clueless. But she refused to live like this any longer, in this dank, musty place where her body was some sort of toy to be fondled and abused by strangers. Her cheeks strung and she knew she stunk of sweat and sex as she stared up at the ceiling. In the morning, she reassured herself as she felt hot tears escaping from her tired eyes, she would pack what little she had and she would leave for good.

Her sixteenth birthday had been ten months ago, every night she'd worked since then had haunted her every dream, every breath, every thought. For reasons she would not admit to herself, her job had become her life completely. It was how she passed her time, it was how she had a home and food, sex had consumed every portion of her life, but it had not consumed her innocence. Christine was a rose that had been left out in the sun for too long, tired, anxious, drooping, but still holding an inner beauty that shone out through her eyes. Although young women never know how beautiful they truly are, Christine could see that if all else about her was hideous and worthless, at least she had a gleam of hope in her eyes.

When the moon had fallen and sunlight poured in through the windows of the brothel, the stable boy made his way through the rooms closing the curtains and washing the sheets, and finally silence fell upon the building. Fake moans were replaced by exhausted snores, the sound of glasses slamming against the wooden bar were replaced with the neighing of horses in the stable, and the clacking of the Madame's heels across the wooden floors was replaced with the sound of Christine yanking her clothes off of her body. It was not an easy decision to make, to leave all that she knew in the middle of a day to try to find work in a busy city where she had no skills or contacts. She was a whore, knew only of whoring and cleaning, and surely those two things were useless in everywhere but a brothel. Leaving Madame Rouge's would mean leaving a bed, food, and the comfort of protection from the band of brutes.

She dressed in the rags she'd arrived in, sticking her father's music and her money into her boots; she wrapped the stained white shawl around her shoulders. The skirt was torn and ragged around the bottom; the shirt was tight against her now-grown breasts. Somehow, she took comfort in making the bed of the attic one last time, leaving the whore's dress folded carefully and the worn heels at the foot of the bed. Christine took one last peak out the small window, seeing nothing but rain clouds and hearing nothing but thunder and the crack of lightning, she left the room with a numbness that reminded her of the walk from her father's funeral. As she descended the creaky stairs, being sure to tiptoe carefully past the Madame's office in fear of being forced back into work, her heart hammered at the prospect of being found out. Apple would surely slit her throat for running away with no warning, and when her fingers easily slid open the front door of the brothel she paused for a moment—expecting to be under attack at any second. Rain soaked through her clothes in less than a second and the wind ripped the door from her hands, sending it slamming shut behind her with a loud bang that she knew had surely awoken some of the building's occupants.

Panic sparked through her and, although she was utterly exhausted and emotionally worn down, Christine ran. The streets were empty due to the rain and she ran as far through them as she possibly could, not stopping in fear of the sight of Apple and his two followers coming after her. At every corner she thought she saw the Madame waiting for her, behind ever street lamp was the man with the eye patch using his knife to clean out his finger nails, in every park Apple was waiting to hoist up her skirts and take her in the flooding grass. Positive that their eyes were upon her, she ran frantically through the empty city, hoping to find somebody who could help her. She found no one and again was alone, so sure that it would be only moments before she was hauled over Apple's shoulder and pulled back into her room in the attic to be served with a beating; other girls had been dealt more for less. Christine ran until she couldn't run anymore, and then she collapsed in the street. The stone cut at her hands and knees, tearing her skirt and sending pain shooting through her body. Tears mingled with the rain as her unmanageable curls tumbled around her, sticking to her slicked skin. The shawl was little protection against the rain, and out of pure terror and fatigue, Christine collapsed in the streets of Paris and allowed herself to faint, destiny and God were the only two who would take care of her.

She didn't open her eyes when she awoke, perhaps if she sat still for a couple more moments, the shadow looming over her would disappear. Christine remained completely still, trying to remember where she had fallen asleep, whatever she was lying upon was too comfortable to be her bed in the attic. Terror struck through her at the sound of a grandfather clock ringing throughout the room, she jumped, green eyes snapping open and quickly taking in her surroundings. This was not her room in the cramped attic, this was not Madame Rouge's office, this was not Papa's cabin, this was not a place she recognized. It was, she realized as her vision cleared, unlike anything she'd seen before. Extravagant silk drapery clothed the tall windows, the ornate ceiling was blue and held a sparkling chandelier above her head, the bed she was cuddled in was swimming with light blue and white silk covers.

"Mademoiselle, are you quite alright?" Upon looking at the man who'd spoken, Christine was positive that she had hit her head and was dreaming this. He was beautiful, and looking at her with great concern, blonde hair was tussled above great blue eyes and kind pink lips, he was tall, clean, wearing a suit and leaning toward her with such concern she thought she might faint.

"Philippe! Call Marie, the girl's awake!" It was a holler toward the open door that Christine had not paid mind to before, from her angle in bed she could see out and into the hall, also decorated ornately with light colors and heavy materials.

"Can I get you something, Mademoiselle? Perhaps a glass of water?" Unable to manage much more than nodding her head, she did so, as she pulled herself into a sitting position and clutched the soft silks to her body. Somebody had changed her she realized in discomfort, she was in nothing but a cotton slip, a blush lit her cheeks as the man with the blue eyes helped her sip from the water glass he willingly held to her lips. She couldn't help but notice the cleanliness of his nails, of the way his eyes scanned her face, anxiously waiting for some sort of response out of her. Another man entered the room then, Christine assumed him to be Philippe, he was taller than the first man, but had the same blue eyes, slightly darker and shorter blonde hair, they must've been brothers.

"How are you, Mademoiselle? Can you speak?" Philippe looked less worried, more frantic though, eyes wide and hair disheveled, less pleased to see her awake. Had she caused the brothers trouble?

"I am better now, monsieur. Where am I?" Almost ashamed at her own hoarse voice, the thought that she hadn't spoken to a man outside of sexual situations in years brought a humiliated flush to her body.

"The de Chagny household in Paris, France. What is your name, where are you from?" Philippe had pushed the younger man out of the way so that he could sit on the edge of the bed, closer to Christine's weak form, better able to look her in the eyes when she spoke.

"Christine Daae, I'm from Sweden but have lived here for some time, Monsieur." That explained her coloring, Philippe decided. She would be beautiful, one day, he decided. Perhaps after a good scrub and a few good meals, many nights of good sleep. For right now she had heavy circles around her green eyes, shaking thin fingers that clutched helplessly at the blanket she was wrapped in, her unkempt hair wild around her shallow face.

"You speak French very well, Mademoiselle Daae. Do you have family that will be looking for you?" The younger brother spoke this time, kindness radiated from him, somehow he fit perfectly in this white room. The expensive fineries all around him seemed only to compliment his beaming smile and cleanly clothing, he was holding onto the bedpost as he studied her with a dazzling grin.

"No, no Messieurs. My Papa is dead, I never knew my mother. No one will be looking for me; I've been living on the streets for years now." The lie came easily to her, falling from her chapped lips before she had time to consider what would happen if they found out the falsehood.

"And you look it, apologies Mademoiselle, we've been rude. I am Philippe de Chagny, this here is my brother Raoul de Chagny. If you'll excuse us, Marie will be in to attend to you in just a few moments, adieu."

Before she had a moment to argue and ask for explanations, the men had moved from the room and shut the door tightly behind them. She could only assume the best of them, as they'd been so generous so far. They'd most likely seen her passed out in the street and brought her back home, perhaps the woman Marie dressed her in the sleep and she'd been innocently tucked into bed. Guilt flooded through her, she had wanted the help of others yes, but never to force herself into a household and force the men to wait upon her. She could only be grateful though, she reminded herself as she stretched against the silk sheets, she should be thankful it was they who found her and not anyone else.

Marie was a woman in her late fifties, short and stout with kind, watery grey eyes and greying hair hidden under a white cap. She was the head maid and led Christine out of bed and into the washroom gently. She had already drawn a bath and forced Christine into the warm water, surprised at Christine's lack of shame as she sat naked in the tub in front of the stranger. It struck Christine then, as Marie used a brush to scrub at her nails, that these people had no idea of her past. As she washed away the grime and abuse from years of disservice to her body, she was washing away her history. To these people she could be anyone she wanted; her past job could have been a horrible nightmare that she escaped with only a few scratches and bruises.

"Now, dearie, Madame de Chagny is not a warm woman, but I have a funny feeling she's going to enjoy your presence in this house. Let's get you dressed and ready to meet the Madame, that alright, dearie?"

The words cut like ice through the hot water but she nodded submission anyways and allowed herself to be wrapped in fluffy towels and dried to be wrapped again in a light silk robe. Every bit of material was soft and clean, as if somebody had handpicked every decoration to be the finest possible. It was overwhelming to be tied into a gown so fine and heavy that her knees practically buckled under its weight. The cream colored silk outlined her figure quite nicely, without smoky makeup or ridiculous lipstick; she decided she did indeed look like a lady. Shocked by her own transformation, Christine remained silent as she was lead through the house up, up, up four sets of stairs to a grand office. She wondered if she would ever grow to be used to the fineries in the palace of a home, and decided most likely not. The room smelt of honey and sweet leather, books covered every inch of the walls besides the wide windows that looked out onto the greenery of a park. And in front of that window sat a blonde woman, she was beautiful even with age, and must have been the exact opposite of Madame Rouge.

Class exuded from her pores, her long yellow hair was piled atop her head, a high black collar buttoned at her neck, encasing the curves that Christine couldn't help but notice beneath the miles upon miles of tulle that she was wrapped in. Diamonds hung heavy from her ears and pearls encompassed her neck and wrists. Her face was wrinkled but kind, the blue eyes of her sons shone equally as brightly on her, her lips were painted in a dark purple that Christine would have questioned if she had seen herself as an authority on fashion of the upper class, but she remained silent. She sat in the short leather chair opposite Madame de Chagny, and waited. The older woman said nothing for a few short moments, simply looking Christine up and down as Christine tried to keep from slouching in the heavy material, she'd never been dressed so finely in her life and found it slightly uncomfortable.

"Name?" The woman had taken out a quill and scroll after a few more moments of scrutiny, and began to write down what Christine assumed to be notes.

"Christine Daae. That's D-a-a-e."

"Age?"

"Sixteen." A slight nod of her head. Christine sat in confusion, what on Earth was going on?

"Homeland?"

"Sweden." The woman paused for a moment before continuing to scribble, faster now.

"Previous occupation?"

"I worked as a maid in an inn for two years and ten months."

"Your reason for leaving?" Madame de Chagny had not lifted her eyes to meet Christine's.

"My boss was physically abusive."

"Is Daae any relation to the violinist, Gustav?"

"He was my father."

"And I was a fan. You're hired and start immediately, Marie will find you a uniform."

Christine did not have time to protest or show gratitude for the job she was not sure she wanted, Marie had her changed and situated with a rack in the servant's courters immediately. Christine began in the kitchen, washing vegetables, cleaning dishes, serving food and wine. The tasks were easy, mindless, taking little physical effort and earning her much more money than she was used to coming into favor with. She didn't see the young de Chagny brother often, at least not as much as she would have liked to. Madame de Chagny nor Philippe were in frequent contact with the workers and most days Christine was left to her own devices. As long as her few tasks were completed, she was free to wander as she pleased. There was a backdoor to the servants' quarters, a long room that held racks upon the wall and was usually bustling with the mindless chatter of the many women and few men who worked in the household. Nobody paid her much mind, which was perfectly fine to her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: All lovey-dovey innocence ahead with the Vicomte! No trigger warnings here.**

It was awkward to be amongst people, innocent people, when she felt so dirty and crude. They knew nothing of her past life, it wasn't as if sex for a living was her choice or defined her as a person, but it was always there. Only a tad under the surface, the feeling of men's hands upon her haunted her dreams, the silver of a kitchen knife reminded her of Apple, at night the creaks of other servants' racks reminded her of her horrible little attic. If it were not for Raoul de Chagny, she was sure to have run away within the first month.

"I'm always home on the weekends." He'd promised her one day when he'd stolen an orange from the kitchen. That afternoon he spent the day with his elbows leaning on the counter as he watched her cut carrots into precise portions for beef stew. And then, every Friday night thereafter was spent in the same way. Raoul would roll up his shirt sleeves and lean across the table, talking to her of everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. He'd learned her favorite color had grown to be blue, she enjoyed music above all else, and she'd always wanted a cat. She learned that he despised working as an apprentice to a lawyer, that he much preferred horseback riding to any other sort of travel, and his favorite color was growing to be green.

On Saturdays, after Christine had helped serve and restore the rooms after breakfast and then helped to prepare dinner, Raoul and she would take walks through the house. They weren't very exciting walks, but she had nothing but her uniform to wear in public, so they remained in doors and continued to talk. Raoul told stories to her, of England, of some of the cases he'd had to deal with in the office, of his childhood and what it was like being raised in the shadow of his genius brother. No one commented on the unlikely pairing, and Christine had an inkling it was because he had ordered it so. But she did not mind, as long as she was not bothered for making a friend. A friend who was a man, who respected her, cared for her, sought her out for nothing more than conversation and strolls through his house. Soon, she could think of nothing but Raoul. He wanted to be her friend, willingly! Raoul de Chagny was the kindest man she'd ever met, besides perhaps her Papa.

Sundays were spent back in the kitchen, preparing foods for throughout the week and performing a deep cleaning on all of the appliances, the cook had made sure Christine knew these were the "Madame's orders." At nightfall, Raoul would sneak Christine out through the service doors. She'd never felt so free or young in her life, with her arm tucked carefully in his, she struggled to keep up with his long stride as he tugged her through the darkened streets of Paris with laughter upon his lips. The destination was always the same, for four months Raoul led her out to the park where they would sit upon their bench and stare up at the stars. These visits were what kept Christine going during the week. Out on the bench, nothing mattered but them; their rankings, their past, her job, his family, dissolved into nothingness. Everything fell away until they were nothing but a young couple sitting hand in hand on the bench, sharing secrets under the stars.

"I don't think my mother ever loved me." He revealed one night, giving her hand a squeeze as he pulled her attention away from the sky.

"I doubt that's true, Raoul-"

"No, I mean it. She's never said it before except on holidays and my birthday, I'm not really sure it counts then."

"Don't be ridiculous, your mother cares for you very much—or you wouldn't be here today. No mother could stop loving her child-"

"Your turn Christine, tell me a secret. Tell me what you think about at night before you fall asleep." He smiled at the red tint that rose in her cheeks, she was beautiful. It was true, less than a year living in better conditions made her a rose in full bloom. Christine hardly knew it of course, her work clothes and occupation hid all self-love from her, but Raoul could see past all of that and into the eyes of a beautiful young woman with a beautiful soul.

"No, Raoul, do not make me-" She rose to stand, but he clasped her hand and pulled her stumbling back onto the bench. Closer to him, hand upon his firm shoulder to steady herself, his winter cloak wrapped around her shoulders and encompassing her in his smell of cinnamon. His minty breath teased at her senses, pulling her eyes down to the shiny teeth revealed by his contagious smile that she was so fond of.

"I insist! I paid my dues, now you."

"I think, sometimes, of what it would be like…if you were to give me a kiss." Confessing in a voice no louder than a whisper, Christine blushed furiously as he held her gaze. It was a long few moments of silence before he pressed his lips to hers, gently coaxing her into a tight embrace with his arms woven around her small body until she was situated upon his lap. One kiss turned into a dozen, with their small gasps and giggles between, neither were new to kissing but continued to blush furiously at the surprise of mutual enjoyment. His lips were soft and body was warm as he pulled her close, pressing chaste kisses to her reddened nose and flushed cheeks.

These encounters continued on for quite some time, weeks turned into months and months bloomed quickly into a fresh year. Christine was trusted in the household by workers and family members alike, no one let the friendship between the youngest de Chagny and the youngest maid come to the surface, although nearly everyone knew of the happenings. Kisses had remained chaste, touches fleeting, Raoul assured her weekly that he wanted to keep up with propriety and Christine was perfectly happy with the news. Raoul was her everything, her sunlight, her moonlight, her every breath and thought revolved around what it would be like for this to continue on forever. At the bloomed age of seventeen, marriage was on her mind. It was unbelievable to think how much her life had changed in a year. From brothel to mansion, whore to maid, loner to lover, Raoul had changed everything. In her mind, she owed everything to the young man who had swept her off of her feet so quickly, yet so innocently. Kind, giving, handsome, gentle, and respectful, he was everything she could have asked for and more.

In august on a Wednesday, Raoul came to his family home. With Christine's small hand in his much larger gloved one, he pulled her through the park but did not allow her to stop where they usually sat. Instead, they took a stroll in the moonlight, her skirts swishing leaves along the path, his free hand pointing up at the stars, her lips pressed gratefully to his shoulder. His mother would kill him, surely, if she heard of this relationship, but that was only part of the fun in it. Christine's hair tickled his cheeks as he placed a solitary kiss on her ear as he leant forward to tell her his secret of the night,

"I've never felt this way about a lady before." Guilt tore through the young woman quickly, tears filling her eyes faster than she was able to calculate her own emotions. She had not realized a sentence could be so moving, and push her so far toward the edge.

"Raoul I am nothing if not an honest woman. It is only fair that you know that I am no lady." He laughed incredulously, tossing his head in a way that sent the moonlight shining through his golden locks. A sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"Come, come Christine, you know I care nothing for your position. I care for you as a woman, not as a worker or class member." She turned her back to him, hoping if she did not look him in his face, the task would become easier even as panic gripped her heart with a steel fist.

"That's not what I mean, Raoul. I lied to you when you found me in the streets. I was not homeless…I worked in a brothel….as a whore." The words were not easy, they were choked and tense, she wasn't quite sure if she'd admitted the words aloud before. They stung to hear, ripping through their relationship like a knife, stabbing her in the heart she'd only just learned to allow to love. Silence stole the next moments away, leaves swished in the wind, her own blood pounded in her ears, Raoul's boots crunched leaves. And then she was spinning, quickly, he was grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her into a deep kiss, one of love and passion. Tears fell quickly from her clenched eyes as she realized this was their last kiss, his goodbye to her.

"Thank you, I'm sorry I could not have been a better woman for you."

"Nonsense, thank you for being just how you are. I love you this way, past included." A shocked gasp was captured by his imploring lips, he crushed her into a hug, spinning her round and round. When he released her and allowed her to steady herself on a nearby tree, Raoul dropped to his knee and fought a diamond ring out of his pocket before he took her shaking fingers and slipped the ring onto her wedding finger.

"Everything that is mine is yours, everything you've gone through is mine, we are one and I love you." His words stayed seared in her mind forever, never would she be able to forget his hopeful eyes and charming grin as he pulled her into another kiss, this time against the tree, and whispered promises of a new life into her ears. Raoul de Chagny had stolen, encased, and adored her heart. And she his.

Love seemed to have cured all of Christine's woes, the bags under her eyes were lighter, her hair had regained its buoyancy, and her pale cheeks were flushed with joy and gaiety. When she awoke the morning after her engagement with the heavy diamond still resting on her finger, she broke into tears of joy. Even in the dim lighting of the servants' quarters, the diamond upon her ring glinted in the sunlight. Christine dressed quickly and tugged her cap on as she bounded outside, spontaneously deciding that nothing could be more beautiful to welcome in this change of life, than watching the sunrise. Raoul would be able to spend the afternoon with her, that he had promised, but then he would be forced to go back downtown for work until Saturday evening.

The backyard of the de Chagny household was spacious for a city home, there were no large trees or bushes, but a swing hung on the back-porch surrounded by a small rose garden that she'd helped keep up with during her first few months as a worker there. It smelt glorious, and with a giggle she could not possibly contain, Christine plopped down on the swing and watched as the sun began to pull higher and higher into the sky. Her thoughts wandered as she felt the sun's rays playing against her skin, it was a marvelous contrast to the cool pull of wind against her. She could see it now, herself tucked up in an extravagant bed as Raoul stood near the window in nothing but his trousers, in his arms was a beautiful baby with Raoul's hair and eyes, perhaps Christine's love of music. A beam slid onto her face, they would pay for their beautiful darling to take violin lessons and one day he would be able to play the music Christine's father had composed. It was a stunning dream and she could hardly believe that the ring upon her finger was what tied it to reality.

The morning dragged on slowly, after watching the sunrise she had ducked back to her bedroom and tucked her father's music into her breast, she would give anything for him to have been there to celebrate with her, but having his music close to her heart was the next best thing. As Christine cleaned and chopped vegetables for dinner, she assured herself that Papa would have loved Raoul. He was everything he'd have wanted for her: kind, compassionate, smart, handsome, and comfortable in social status. Raoul would provide her with everything she would have had to fight for, for the rest of her life. Feeling truly blessed, she set the table for lunch with a smile upon her lips, the ring stayed tucked away into her boot for safe keeping and secrecy from the other workers.

"Mademoiselle Daae?" Turning away from the crystal place settings that she was busy setting on the silk tablecloth, Christine turned toward the Madame's voice. As usual, she stood in a black gown that billowed about her, making her seem much larger than she actually was.

"Madame?"

"Your presence is requested in the main office, immediately."

The office, which she had once thought to smell of honey and sweet leather, stunk of tobacco and was as stuffy as a summer's day. Philippe was leaning against the book cases, a look of worry upon his face and his hair sticking up at odd ends, Christine might have laughed had she not sensed the tense atmosphere of the room. Hands extended, Christine met Raoul on the sofa and was unnerved by his sweaty palms grasping her fingers so tightly. She'd never seen him look as disarrayed as he looked in that uncomfortable room, glancing back and forth between his brother and mother, never making eye contact with his fiancé. Christine thought it odd that his mother stood by the door with her hands behind her back, her lips a tight line and a flush blooming in her pale cheeks.

"Raoul, Raoul what's wrong? What is it?"

"His name is Master de Chagny to you, or Vicomte de Chagny. Your engagement is broken and your service is no longer needed in this household, I do not employ the likes of lying whores. You may collect your things and be gone by dinner; you will not be in contact with my sons again. Good day." Christine's eyes were brimming with tears before her speech was finished. Raoul would never do this to her, telling his family was one thing, abandoning her was another story.

"Raoul…?" With fingers twisting in her lap and tears steadily falling faster, she trailed off in hope of a reply, even as the Madame stood with the door open and a hand gestured out for Christine to leave. Raoul had long ago released her hands and was now avoiding eye contact, the material on his thighs seemed much more interesting then Christine's hopeful plea.

"Raoul, I am leaving now…You will never see me again…Raoul?" He was horrible at covering his emotions, and tears were freely falling from him as well as his mother stood beside the door, clearing her throat loudly as Christine fell to the carpet. If only he would look at her, one last time. Desperate, she was inching toward him on her knees, grasping his hands and begging his name in a strangled whisper. It was Philippe who spoke her name angrily, rushing to the center of the room to pull her to her feet by the forearm. Gentility within the family was forgotten as she was pushed out of the office and the door was slammed in her face. Marie escorted her to grab her things, deaf even as Christine sobbed all the louder upon the realization that she had nowhere to go, no references, no hope for the future.

She was spurned out onto the street, once again finding herself alone in a world much too big for a poor girl of only seventeen. Unbelieving of her horrible luck, she stared up at the white mansion in confusion. The blinds were drawn quickly and she knew there was no use pounding against the door. In her panic and disbelief of the Madame's cruelty, she then realized that she had been unable to plead her case. If only she had reminded them of her dead father, of the need for food and shelter in times when she was useless for all else beside her body, perhaps they would have let her stay. Her small, sobbing frame could be seen heading toward the park, with no knowledge of the rest of the city and only a few francs to her name, by nightfall the park bench seemed the only reasonable option. Her weeping continued, quieter and quieter as she grew exhausted, throwing herself down onto the bench and yanking her little blue cap from her head. The park was empty and cold, without Raoul's cloak to warm her she was nothing but a shivering stack of goosepimpled limbs. Hopeful that Raoul would meet her at the bench, Christine remained there through the night, staying awake with tears falling from her eyes for as long as possible. Until finally, sleep brought her peace, at last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the reviews and favorites and all of that! It's much appreciated and I'd love if they continued, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Trigger Warning: Brief sexual content toward the end of the chapter**

She awoke in the dead of night, warmth spreading through her exhausted body as she fought for coherence. The park was silent save for the gentle swishing of leaves in the wind and Christine's eyes and skin burned from the cold. In her exhaustion, she had the mind to thank herself for removing the uncomfortable ring from her boot and replacing it upon her finger in case a stranger had happened upon her, they could see she was a lady. Her back ached from the uncomfortable metal bench she'd slept on, and she blinked around the empty area for a few moments before her eyes rested on the other side of the bench, where a man sat. A white mask covered half of his face and she couldn't keep her eyes from staring at it, a severe contrast compared to the rest of his black dress clothes, it only took a moment for her to look down and realize the black cape she was swathed in must've belonged to him.

"Who are you?" Christine's voice cracked from lack of use, she found her throat tight from her exhausted sobbing.

"A meager spirit experiencing time and space; are you warm?" His voice was deep yet soft and comforting. Pulling the cloak tighter to her crumpled body, Christine tiredly nodded, earning her a smile from the mysterious being.

"Spirit? Are you an angel?" He dipped his head in positive acknowledgement before he answered,

"I am many things." The pair sat in silence for a moment. He, taking in her beauty with hungry eyes and a curiosity to know why such a lovely creature was abandoned out on her own; she, taking in his pallor he seemed desperately to be hiding under layers of black clothing. The thought that the cloak he had wrapped around her sleeping form was as big and thick as the blankets at the de Chagny household evoked tears in her eyes, and she was crawling toward him with a heaving chest.

"Child, why do you cry?" Frozen beneath her shaking body, the man found his hands moving on their own accord, tangling in her warped curls and doing his best to soothe her by rubbing her back. It was awkward, hugging this strange woman who shivered in his embrace, her little gasps of air tickling his neck and her icy fingers clutching at his chest.

"Angel, you've come too late. I've fallen too far and am damned!" Her hiccups were almost as pathetic as her weak voice, or the feeling of her shaking so violently from the cold. Cheeks white, tears dripping from her jawline, eyes bloodshot and weary, Christine looked like a small child lost and alone in the world; and in a way, she was exactly that. A surge of possessiveness soared through the man in that moment, he tightened his arms as he cradled her to him, she was his responsibility from here on out.

"You could never be damned." It was a forced whisper through clenched teeth, anger coursing through his veins as she continued to helplessly sob in his arms. The cruel world which had scorned him had chosen this innocent child as another victim; she was too thin, too cold, and too poor. What could she have done to deserve such treatment? Her face held no scars, she was but a tiny waif of a girl, her pathetic weeping showed no signs of evilness or maliciousness except that which was thrust upon her. The young woman was as helpless as a small kitten alone on the streets; hatred swelled in his chest at the idea of who could be capable of hurting such a pitiful creature.

"Angel, do you know me? Do you know my sins?" Her tearful eyes looked upon him with such worship he felt embarrassment flush through him, he was no angel, but there was no telling her that now. Resituating her so that they sat thigh-to-thigh on the bench, giant cloak still tight around her quivering form, his white hand caught her small palm within his own. Wind whistled through her tumbling hair as her tears slowed to a stop, her beauty was evident even in such poor conditions.

"No, I know nothing. I found you here and I believe I was sent to protect you, what is your name, child?"

"Christine Daae. Am I dead? Are you going to bring me to heaven?" Little hands came up to clasp each side of his face and he fought to keep himself from jerking out of reach, instead he took the little palms between his much larger ones and indulged in a soft kiss to each. Upon one hand he found a diamond ring and cautiously brought that hand to her attention, staring between the shining rock and her gleaming eyes. A stifled sob caught in her throat as her other shaking hand pulled the ring from her finger and set it upon the bench where she had slept not so long ago. She was free, the words echoed through her head again and again at the sight of the lonesome ring on the empty seat.

"You are not dead, Christine. Wherever you have been, whatever you have fought, that is behind you now. Your future will be nothing but full of love and music if you come with me." Drunk off naivety and exhaustion, Christine found herself back within this warm man's arms. Sheathed within the deep darkness of night and cloaked in his scent of mint, she felt her eyes drifting shut as they moved through the night. Every once and a while his voice would pull her back to reality as he praised her bravery or innocence, but she said nothing, allowing him to carry her wherever it was he wanted to take her. An angel sent to her too late but was a blessing none the less, and she would not question him.

Her chocolate curls smelt of roses, even with dirt coating them. Her green eyes held hope and love, even when her soul had been trampled upon. She awoke and immediately found the form of her angel sitting by her bedside, an exhausted hand extended toward him and he brought it to his lips quickly. Her surroundings were simple; she was upon a little white bed in a little brown room. His cloak hung on the back of the closed door; she had no idea of where the room itself was. With a heavy head she accepted a glass of water before he prompted her for her story, she told him everything.

The tiny cabin that belonged to her father before they travelled and played his music, the sheet music in her boot that itched her ankle, of Madame Rouge, of Raoul, of the love she would always feel for him, of sinning so horribly that she knew her soul was as black as coal. Eyes closed, he listened as she painted her stories with such grand detail that tears fell from his eyes, and when she was finished he placed another gentle kiss to the top of her knuckles.

"Sleep, Christine, tomorrow begins a new world for you." Terrified of this beautiful creature leaving her, she'd held tight to his arm, pleased when he smiled down at her before he promised the words she'd always longed to hear, "I will never leave you." The mask was less daunting when the man wearing it held a smile.

"Name! Angel, you must have a name that I can call you." Nobody had asked him of his name before, nobody had cared. As if he needed proof that she was a peculiar young woman, yet she provided it in every breath.

"Erik, my name is Erik."

"Erik…Thank you, Erik." It tumbled softly from her pink lips causing goose pimples to spread across his skin; he was hooked.

Erik took joy in watching her, especially in her first few weeks at the opera house. Helping her into a bunk, the first night there, Christine's shaking little hands had clasped behind his neck in a desperate plea for him not to leave her. The room was dark, dank, hardly suitable for a young woman as beautiful as she to be living in, but it was the best he could do for now. Stage hands and a few loose ballerinas from the corps roomed there, Christine was admitted into the corps de ballet upon Erik's insistence as a very wealthy patron and was granted admission to the bunks free of charge, along with regular pay. Pale little legs stuck out from the wrinkled skirt she still wore and in the top bunk when she threw her arms around his neck he felt himself crumble in her arms. Christine Daae had every power over him, his life was hers to do with as she pleased, and his heart was at her mercy.

Without seeing him, she knew he was always there, watching from his secret spots he promised to one day show her; and he was. Reclining in his favorite seat in Box Five, watching down on her from the rafters, hiding in the shadows of corridors, Erik never left her alone. Noises that could only be made by her haunted his every moment. Tasks as simple as making tea were disrupted by thoughts of tulle rustling along her perfect legs, the tittering of her pointe shoes across the wooden stage, the small gasp he had grown familiar to hearing when she noticed his presence. Those green eyes growing even larger, a spark of excitement burned into gratitude before she allowed herself to smile and glance away, not wanting to reveal his presence to her company. And she was thankful, thankful that his brown eyes were a constant source of encouragement, that when he visited her in her bunk and placed a solitary kiss to her forehead he was rooting for her success, that the small talks they shared upon the rooftop were one's of his pride in her progress. Christine was thankful for his friendship and his ability to make her feel safe when she was still nothing more than a young lady being pushed into a great, new world she'd never explored before.

Again, Christine found herself in wonderment at time's ability to fly. How easily lives are altered in time's deciding hands. This home was less luxurious than the de Chagny household, but it was one she grew accustomed to much faster and with much more enjoyment. There was no manual labor asked of her, she was no slave or garden girl, no one here knew of her to be anything different than the other ballerinas. Hours went into learning the craft, she was thankful that she had always learned quickly and that music was something she'd been raised on. Rhythm was no issue, grace and elegance, on the other hand, were. Friends were made easily enough, Meg Giry had taken a liking to her simply because she was the new girl and therefore, "the most exciting, of course!" Meg was blonde and small, smaller and younger than the other girls in the corps anyways, and it was rumored she was only in because her mother was the choreographer. Rumors were not something Christine wished to listen to, but even her Erik grinned at the gossip, refusing to deny or accept his knowledge on the subject. But, Christine had whispered to Meg one night at the end of rehearsals, Christine herself was only here because of her angel.

Meg was not the only friend she made, of course, there was Jammes and Fayette and a few others. Jammes and Fayette were best friends, complete opposites in absolutely everything, they were attached at the hip. Fayette was the Prima Ballerina three shows running, with Jammes as her understudy, the two had studied together, "practically from the womb," they even bragged in unison. Christine had taken the greatest liking to the pair because they would spend hours after rehearsals with her, correcting her form and angles, whispering words of encouragement as they taught her everything from vocabulary to stretch-techniques. It was as if they'd taken her under their wings, even going out of their way to defend her in rehearsals against some of the older girls' rude comments about amateurs and ignorance.

Her days were filled to the brim with new knowledge, not only from ballet, but from the life change of living with middle class people. She'd only ever lived with her father, other whores, and other servants. These were men and women who went home at the end of the day to families counting on their income, or who stayed in the bunks just as she did and were earning their money in hopes of one day moving up in the world. It was something she'd never really thought about before: ambition. Everyone she'd grown accustomed to being around had either accepted their positions in the lower class or were handed an upper class position on a silver platter. Not that that was Raoul's fault, of course, but things had been so easy for him, at least up until she'd come into his life.

Thoughts of Raoul were pushed aside during the day, at first it took determination to stop longing for his blue eyes to be upon her as she pirouetted across the stage, to stop hoping he would meet her in the cafeteria during her dinner break to dip his bread in her stew with his cheeky smile, to stop aching for the feeling of his lips upon her skin after rehearsals in celebration of her progress. But as days turned into weeks, it became easier to forget everything outside of the opera and its rehearsals. Neither Madame Rouge or Madame de Chagny were half as terrifying as Madame Giry, this woman could thrust her not only out of home and livelihood, but out of friendships, out of passion on the stage. Raoul was hardly a thought when there was so much to learn, so many costumes to be fitted for, so many counts to memorize, so many transitions to remember.

When nighttime came, however, he was there. Raoul was always there at night, when the sound of rats scurrying under the bunks was only hidden under the sounds of stagehands snoring loudly. In some diluted part of her brain, she was able to conjure him, his beautiful face hovering over her, his overpowering scent of cinnamon defeating the stench of sweat and liquor from the damp room. A longing ran so deep in her core to have known his kind hands upon her bare skin, just something to erase the memories of old men thrusting into her with their uncaring eyes staring down at her and grubby fingernails marking her flushed skin. Raoul would have been a kind lover, Christine was sure, caring and compassionate, eager to find her places of pleasure and share his own with her with that shy smile he usually held after their more passionate kisses.

Sometimes, when she was sure the men within the bunks were completely asleep, on nights when the stress of the days seemed to weigh much more than she could hold, Christine sought release. A hand beneath the sheets, then pulling up her nightgown, and then untying her pantaloons, until finally, finally, finally she found her own warm skin. Erik did not know that this was something she did often, and so when he had crept into the bunks and found her in the midst of pleasure, his back pressed up against the wall in shock, he desperately wished he could tear his eyes from the sight, but he could not. No, his eyes were sewn to her figure, to her jutted jaw, flushed cheeks, crinkled eyes, fabric rustling, arm moving restlessly in and out of sight. The smell of her was strong in the room and he wondered how all of the men were able to snore through such an act of beauty. She was not innocent, no, she had told him herself of a past stained with hurt and lust forced upon her in hope of money and livelihood. That did not stop the hot lust that shot through him, half swollen, leaning into the dank corner; he did not dare relieve the pressure booming through him as he watched her finish with a hand clasped over her mouth to stifle her harsh breathing.

Unmoving, unthinking, Erik remained pressed against the wall as he listened to the sounds of her little hands readjusting herself upon the small bunk. This girl, this woman, so trusting and naïve, was the bravest creature he'd yet met. No, this woman was by far the most amazing creature he'd come into contact with in all his years. Christine relaxed completely then, turning to face the wall and allowing herself to be carried into dreamland. She was everything he should hate in the world: young, naïve, beautiful, outspoken, trusting, and a ballet rat to top. Erik knew, however, as he stalked closer to her calm form, that he could never hurt an angel fallen from the heavens. On that park bench with her limbs tucked up close to her chin and the promise of snow curling in her chocolate tresses, he'd thought that the Lord had sent him to bury her frozen body; he'd whispered lies of being sent to protect her. Erik now knew, as he watched flames of passion fall from her cheeks, she had been sent to protect him, to protect his soul, to steal all that he knew of the world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Enjoy and review if you'd like! This is a personal favorite chapter of my story.**

**A big thank you to my beta reader theairiseverywhere! **

She was not a good ballerina. The open house of the theatre was too elegant for her to be wearing such little clothing, the chandelier winking overhead was too distracting for her to concentrate on repetitive counts, Madame Giry's cane tapping along to the beat killed the beauty of the music. It was no secret to the company that she had no passion for dance, at least not like the other girls did. At the end of another dream shattering rehearsal where she was humiliated in front of the other ballerinas for her slow turns and added steps, Christine found herself to be the last girl in the theatre. Fayette and Jammes were out on double dates, Meg had rushed off to gossip with some of the older dancers, and everyone else had their own lives to tend to. The stage crew were all up on the second floor in the production rooms, sawing and designing and whatever else they did to prepare the sets for when full-cast rehearsals started. It was a Sunday evening, the managers had gone out, the principals were off until Tuesday morning, and Christine found herself utterly alone except for Erik's company. Rarely did he join her in her free time, she soon learned he was a busy composer and artist who simply did not have time to spend his weekends ambling around the theatre looking for things to do. This Sunday, however, was different.

"Angel, is there something wrong?" He had appeared from the wings of stage right, a small smile upon his face as she finished unlacing her pointe shoes. From her spot on the floor, he was an intimidating figure, tall and proper with his mask gleaming in the shimmering light from off stage left.

"No, Christine, never anything wrong. How was rehearsal?" A pale hand helped raise her to her feet, bare against the cool wood the stage and toes wriggling in freedom from their previous restraint. Erik still stood tall over her, but was less intimidating when she found herself able to accept the kiss he pressed to her forehead.

"You saw rehearsal, atrocious, as per usual. Erik, what is wrong with me that I cannot dance?" Eyes caressed her exposed throat as she tilted her head to stare up at him.

"Christine, you are not atrocious-"

"I never said _I_ was!" It was an indignant scoff as she reached her hands out to him.

After months of time spent with her, after stealing kisses to her forehead before they became accepted and expected, he was still growing accustomed to the physical affection she doled out so easily. Placing his much larger hands within the confines of her warm ones, he allowed her to begin rotating them in small circles. Her eyes were alight with laughter as they picked up speed, leaning backwards and balancing on each other's weight, they moved in silence except for the stray giggle or gasp of dizziness. After a few long moments of her sweaty palms gripping him tightly, of her curls tangling along her glowing collarbone, of her breathless gasps teasing his ears, he felt himself watching tears begin to glide from her porcelain cheeks. They slowed to a stop, staring at each other as the tears gained speed and soon were rolling down to the crinoline leotard.

"Nobody thinks I can do it, Angel. I don't even think I can do it, not now." Long arms pulled her into a soft hug, her face buried into the darkness of his shirt, tears soaking through to cool against scar covered chest, and he could hardly contain his moan at their intimate embrace.

"Nothing I say will make you a better dancer or a stronger person, but know that I believe in you. That I trust you with this position; that you were born to walk this path."

"I can walk, Erik, I cannot dance." White hands gripped his lapels; desperate eyes sought him for answers and solutions he was not sure he could give.

"Then do not dance, my love. Fly."

Her meetings with Fayette and Jammes stopped that week, she explained that she had gained a vocal coach and left it at that. Keeping Erik a secret was part of what made him so special to her, no one else in the company had an angel to watch over them as she did and Christine dreaded the idea of having to share his existence with other people. It was selfish, yes, but when she spoke her fears of this sin to her angel he had only laughed and petted her head as he liked to do, telling her that her selfishness was nothing but appreciated by an angel wont for her attention. She was inclined to tell him that she was wanton for his attention as well, to remind him that his presence was what pushed her through many difficult days of training, but she refrained with the fear that her wantonness would push her angel away.

Not long after their discussion on the stage, Erik visited her down in the bunks. Erik had spoken of a room she'd never heard of before, and his orders were extremely detailed in case she should get lost, but as she left the dining hall she could feel his presence with her and knew there was no reason to be worried over the winding stairs and darkened corridors. His directions led her down to the old storage room in the first floor of cellars, her skirts caught on a shattered mirror as she scurried through the dark room and to the side wall. Boxes littered everywhere; each step she took was a matter of maneuvering her body around corners of wood and broken props long forgotten by the stage crew.

Christine made her way to the far wall and extended pale hands, and setting down her lantern, she searched for the lever Erik had promised she would find. It took some time for her anxious digits to navigate in the darkness, she was nearly blind and pressing cold fingers to the damp and dirty wall, the little light she had was useless in the wide room. Grime coated fingers finally found the tiny gold latch he had spoken of; it was cool, clean, and no bigger than the size of her thumb. Christine pressed on it, letting out a gasp as she fell forward and with a clatter fell to the floor.

Unsure of how the door worked, Christine let out a discontented sigh with the realization that her lantern was locked behind her in the cellars and she was very much alone. Swallowed in the black night of this mysterious corridor, Christine remained upon the floor for a few moments in an attempt to allow her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. It was a fruitless attempt; this was the darkest corridor she'd ever traveled upon in her life, and the coldest. Wishing very much for her lantern and cloak, Christine continued on, her hands against the grubby walls of the hall as she waited for it to make the right turn Erik promised it would.

Time passed slower down below the theatre than it did above, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity as she was left alone to creep in the dank hall. Terrified by the unnerving lack of light and life, Christine shuffled along, her simple day-dress clinging tightly to her as humidity soaked into the thin material. The sound of dripping water and her worried breathing echoed through the empty space, before she heard her name. Christine! Her angel was calling to her and it reverberated through the long passageway, she felt as if she had been walking for hours and the sound of his voice coming from all angles did nothing to help her excitement for meeting him.

"Angel! Where are you?" Her voice quivered, echoing deeper into the shadows. Fingers and toes numb from the cold, Christine tripped deeper, hands chaffing against the rocky wall of the cellar. Thankful that her feet were encased within her leather boots, for the farther she went the more water splashed up and soaked through her beige skirt.

"I'm here, Christine…"

"Erik, tell me where! I can't see…I'm frightened!" Eeriness came with the feeling of listening to her own voice call out for help and sent her into a state of frantic terror. Moving quicker in fear of the dark, Christine raced through the hallway, heart in her throat and electric horror slicking her icy skin.

"Erik! Please, angel!" Tripping, Christine tumbled to the floor once more, this time sliding her palms along the ragged floor and scraping her exposed thigh along the ground. Soaked through to the skin, Christine sat in the puddle of water in shock at her own clumsiness. The feeling of gloved hands upon her arms sent a shriek from her lips and throughout the hall.

"Christine! It's only your Erik, are you injured?" The scream froze in her throat and she found herself forcing her body against his, craving his warmth and security as his gloved hands made accounts over her face and arms.

"I don't think I can walk, Erik, I'm sorry." His masked nose bumped hers and then she was alone again in the darkness, whimpering against her own will at the stinging of water sliding into the cuts upon her aching leg.

"I shall carry you, Christine. Are you prepared?" He either was not interested in her answer, or took her small moan as one of acceptance, for in the next moment she was off of the floor and in the arms of her angel.

"I knew I should have led you down myself, I apologize, Christine." The trip was much shorter when in his arms, hands clasping his cloak around her shaking body. Her angel led her further and further through the hall until finally he made an abrupt turn to the right and slid his hand along the wall. Surprised at the sound of his human pulse beating rapidly beneath her fingers, Christine watched as his gloved fingers found a lever she couldn't see, and a door opened before them.

He led her through his house and through rooms that she would have never imagined to belong to an angel. The home was dim, candle light flickered over dark wood surfaces of shining furniture, red and gold accents crawled across the seats of his chairs and couches, it was extravagant and more than she had expected to find under the opera house.

"Angel, do you live here?" In his arms, she could feel his pulse accelerating as he gently placed her down upon the couch.

"I do, Christine, may I see your injuries?" With her acceptance he lifted her skirts above her knees and ran shaking fingers over the cuts on her flushed legs.

"Nothing too serious, but I would understand if you would like to be brought back above, no vocal lesson will be given after you've hollered yourself out." He snipped at her before he pulled her skirts to hastily cover her quivering legs, not making eye contact with her.

"Angel, did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all, Christine, I shall bring you above." A voice of resignation came over him as he rose, but she clasped his hands in her own with a tinkle of laughter that surprised him, reluctantly dragging his eyes back to her green ones.

"Erik, I've come all this way. Won't you have tea with me?"

The kitchen was a small area, where they sat cramped at a table, both staring into their teacups trying to avoid the fact that their hands could easily be set against each other if they held their mugs correctly.

"So, Erik," She tried to break the uncomfortable silence with a friendly smile, "are you allowed to tell me what it's like to die?"

"I beg your pardon?" The clatter of his spoon splashed her with hot tea and she cringed at the sight of his beautiful fingers shaking.

"I assumed you wouldn't, I apologize for prying-"

"Why do you think I have died?"

"Well, how else does one become an angel?" His eyes softened at her look of confusion. The white surface of the mask flickered in the warm candlelight and his eyes burned behind the porcelain as he took in her concerned face. The pause between them was long and drawn out as she studied the mask upon his face; why must he hide from her if not that he was too pure for her to look upon in full?

"I became an angel by choice, Christine." It was obvious he wished to close the discussion, but she could not help but scoot forward on her chair in honest interest.

"How wonderful! May I become an angel, then? I do wish it, very much." Then, she thought, she could spend _all _of her time with her Erik; as angels must spend all of their time together, of course.

"You are already an angel." The words had slipped past his lips before he registered his own thoughts, her head tilted to the side at his comment. Eyebrows furrowed together on her perfect brow, green eyes inquisitive as her curls hung daringly close to her forgotten tea cup.

"I am?" She could not control her parted lips as Erik leaned forward, oh how she wanted so badly to know his touch. Guilt came for these thoughts of course, it was a sin not only against God but against the memory of Raoul, as well. But Christine could not help it, and as Erik grew closer to her, a quaking hand brushing her shining curls away from her tea, she wished to press her lips all across his face.

"You are anything that pleases you, Christine. If you wish to be an angel, you are an angel." Disappointment came sooner than she had hoped it would, of course Erik was speaking philosophically—she should have expected this, it was a common occurrence with him. As he stood to move, she grabbed his hand to hold him still and was shocked at its warmth.

"Erik, when did you become an angel?"

"The night I found you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading. I do hope that you're enjoying, I had a great time writing this. Please review!**

Christine wasn't sure how to take the news; she did not wish to overreact, but sitting upon his settee as he stoked the fire, she realized she knew nothing of this man. He lived below an opera house and had gotten her into the ballet, he treated her with nothing but kindness and had promised her vocal lessons, yes. But he was not the angel he had posed to be and she had granted him kisses on cheeks and embraces much too intimate for a mortal man. Erik was large, it was a fact that had never frightened her before that evening; he had to have been half a yard taller than her and could overpower her quite easily. In the dining room, he'd told her of his lies with a prideful smirk but shaking hands and she was not sure how to deal with the obvious contradiction. Who was this man? And why had he saved her?

"I hope you are not considering running, you would never make it out of the catacombs alive." His comment held a sense of finality in it that brought a shiver down her spine. Tears filled her eyes against her will and she stared up at him with such a look of fear and horror that he thought she might faint.

"Christine, you created a role and I filled it, the tears are unnecessary."

"Why are you being so cruel?" The clenching and unclenching of his fists did not settle her nerves and he had to restrain from rolling his eyes as she scooted backwards on the couch with every step closer that he took.

"I am being honest with you and your tears are insulting. I've brought nothing but kindness into your life but you cower as if I shall beat you." She could not see what she was doing to him, could not see that his heart felt as if it was tearing in two. For decades he had avoided all human contact and the moment he let one human into his life she turned on him as soon as she knew his true identity. Every shake of her frail shoulders and silent tear that slipped down her cheeks was a deep stab to his heart, she would leave him now with nothing but the memory of her sweetness. Christine did not know of the light and joy she had brought to his life, for the first time in ages he remembered smiling and awaking with a purpose: her. And she planned to steal that from him, he could not let her.

"You could, though, I do not know that you won't beat me…I don't know anything about you."

"You believed _angel_ with a nod of my head but refuse _good man_ because of my mask. I see the game, Christine, and will admit that I thought you better than such frivolous prejudices."

"I said nothing of your mask, only of your lies. How could a good man feign the role of an angel?"

"How could a whore feign the role of ballerina? For necessity, I propose." She reacted as if he had physically slapped her; a gasp tumbled from her parted lips before he could immediately apologize for his mindless insult. Frail hands moved to wrap her thin arms around herself in a hug as she began to rock against her own accord, tears rolling faster than she thought they ever could have. She should have known, she thought to herself, she should have known to never tell another soul of her past when Raoul had abandoned her. Her angel was false, there was no escaping that, and their friendship was hanging from a thin thread.

"Who are you to judge a whore? Tell me who you are, Erik." Her world was falling apart around her, unravelling each way she turned, and she did not know that the way her eyes turned up to gaze at him were with the same pleading wonderment she used to give him, when he was an angel and she nothing more than a ballerina in training. How odd it was, that their entire relationship had changed in a matter of hours, and all because she had wanted to spend _more _time with him. The tension settled between them as quickly as it had arisen, when he reached out a trembling hand to brush her tears away. A good man deserved a chance, she supposed she owed her savior that much.

"A man alone in a world full of hatred, I think that is something you can sympathize with."

"And why is your world full of hatred?"

"Not my world, my dear, but your world. The world of people born flawless and able to strive toward their dreams." His back was turned to her, impossibly straight, as he stared into the fire. Flames flickered across his mask and she thought she understood.

"Your mask?"

"Hides a deformity from birth, I'm afraid." His gesture to the mask was one full of hatred and something in her heart reached out to him, then. She tucked her knees up under her body on the couch and, without asking as she usually would, pulled the elegant blanket from the back of his couch and wrapped it around her cold body.

"Where did you come from, if not heaven?"

"I was born to a hateful mother in France and travelled from there. It is not an interesting story Christine, I was a lonely boy who taught himself to make music a friend. When I was older, I worked for the shah of Persia…I killed there, I killed many people…" At her look of horror a grim smile grew upon his thin lips, "I regret it, Christine, I am not a murderer at heart. I hope you can learn to trust that. I found myself here when this opera house was rising from the dust. I made myself a home and that is when I found you, well some odd years after that."

He had no interest of letting on about his age, about the idea of him being old enough to father her. Christine could see the hurt in his eyes as he spoke, even though his words were directed at the carpet beneath his feet, she saw regret and heartache stirring behind those brown eyes. She wondered, for half a second, if a woman had been the cause of any of his pain but pushed that thought to the side when his gaze met her's once more.

"I do not judge you for killing, if it was what you needed to keep yourself alive. My papa always said that a man who does not kill to save his own life, is one that does not deserve to live. It is sad but…I suppose some cases are more extreme than others…" Erik's eyes were pulled away from her and she briefly wished she could reach out and pull his face back so she could see what he was thinking. She did nothing of the sort, instead she tried to lighted his mood by moving the conversation forward, "I had thought you were hiding your angelic beauty from my sinful gaze." He chuckled at this, turning to glance at her for a mere second before turning back to his fire, shocked at how comfortable she looked in his home, let alone his presence after this revelation.

"How I wish it, Christine, how I wish it could have been so easy. I want to be an angel for you."

"You still can be," He scoffed and shook his head yet she continued on, "not an angel exactly, but all that an angel is. A friend, a teacher, Erik you have to know how much you have meant to me these past eight months," For a half a second she wondered why she was reaching out to a murderer, a murderer who had her in his home no less, but when his grateful eyes met her green ones she could not find it within herself to be worried. Erik was a good man, her gut spoke louder than her mind. At his doubting glance she forced herself to admit what she thought he had known, "everything. Erik, you have been everything to me."

But not nearly as much that she had been to him, this he knew. There was no way for his meager presence to match what her godly beauty meant to him. A comfortable silence grew between them then, his back then turned to her, as they each reflected on the other, on the long talks they shared in shadowed hallways, on the encouraging embraces he had granted her after tough rehearsals, at the smell of roses in her hair, at the feeling of his leather gloves wiping snow away from her chilled cheeks.

"Erik? Do you think we are given a fate as a punishment for a past life?" He had thought that once, yes, but she had changed his mind about that. There was no way this angel could have done anything to deserve the cruelties forced upon her.

"No, I think we are each given experiences we need in order to learn what others may have learned in easier ways. These are the lessons that dictate our lives, which dictate who we are."

"And who are you, Erik?" She was tired, now, after such an exhausting evening. Her little head was resting upon the arm of the couch, a blush from the warmth of the fire and blanket tinted her cheeks, pink lips slightly parted as dazed eyes took him in in a serene way. The picture of heaven was falling asleep in his living room and he had no say in the matter. The frantic and panicked thoughts of the day were slowly clearing from her mind, as if she was pushing rose petals through water, until she was left with nothing but a blank slate and Erik's voice to sway her mind.

"I am a man who learned to duck his face from the more fortunate, I am afraid."

"That's sad…" Her dark eyelashes were pressing fluttering kisses to her cheeks as she fought off her sudden drowsiness.

"Yes, yes it is. And you, Christine, you are a girl who has yet to learn the importance of her own beauty and what things it can do to a man." His words were swimming through her head, eyebrows furrowed above shut eyes, but she was too tired to argue. She knew exactly why men liked her beauty, what sorts of things they liked to do to her body, but Erik could not have meant those crude things to her. What exactly he could have meant, she was unable to decipher in her sleepy state, and upon his whispered order she fought sleep no longer and allowed herself to nod off.

She arose in a bed of beige silk and for a heart-wrenching moment Raoul came to mind. But this was not the de Chagny mansion, no, Madame de Chagny would never own a room with black walls or rusted sconces with wax melting onto the walls, nor would she accept the streaky mirror across from the bed. For the first time in what felt like years, Christine awoke well-rested in a comfortable bed with little worry for where she was. Erik. He came to her mind with a deep blush before she glanced down in relief to see she had slept in the same clothes she'd arrived in. If she called for him, would he come?

"Erik?" She glanced about her surroundings in confusion, why did he have this empty bedroom? It could not be used often, unless it was his. This thought brought even more heat to her cheeks and she called out again, though she remained relaxed upon the fluffy pillows, wanting nothing more than to dig her face into the down and remain there for eternity, especially if this was his scent that lingered so near. The real world seemed exhausting now, she had no concept of the hour and was relieved that she was not called back for rehearsal until Tuesday; if she had slept correctly it could only be Monday. On the third call of his name, Erik arrived, opening the door across from her spot upon the bed and standing awkwardly in the doorway as he took in her sleep-tousled appearance.

"Christine, I trust you slept well?" A formality swept in the room with him and she wasn't sure whether to embrace it whole-heartedly or curse its existence entirely.

"Indeed! Thank you, you must forgive my rudeness, I did not mean to fall asleep-"

"Think nothing of it. I hope you will join me for breakfast, I know it is early but I still-"

"Of course, Erik, thank you."

"There's a dress in the trunk, if you would like…It was left in a dressing room many years ago, I don't know what brought me to keep it all these years, but now you may have it." He exited the room before she could thank him, or ask him where exactly she was, but that was probably his plan.

"What is that room for?" Christine asked as she spread jam across the toast he had served her.

"So many questions with you," He was not smiling while he said it, but she knew he meant no offense, "it is a guest room, I use it just as any other household uses a guest room."

"Will I get to meet your other guests, one day?" His flinch did not go unnoticed under her curious eyes, but she said nothing, only awaited his answer.

"If you're on your very best of behavior, I suppose it is possible. Are you ready to sing, today? I am no angel, but I am quite the accomplished musician, still." It was an offer made to the sugar bowl, but she accepted none the less.

He was not what she had expected in a tutor. As a friend and angel he was supportive and reassuring, as a tutor he was strict and quiet, attentively listening to her every note as she bumbled through her warm-ups. Before they had even begun their formal lesson he had stood her affront the piano and fixed her posture, pushing on her shoulders, straightening her back, lowering her chin but lengthening her neck. It was quite an ordeal and throughout the lesson, as she grew comfortable and her posture slumped, he continued to snap corrections at her. Even when she did not think he was looking, he seemed to know what exactly she was doing.

"Drop your chin, you're closing off!" After two hours of the same scales and the same corrections, he grew impatient and slammed his fingers down on the keys to create a horrendous cacophony of angry notes.

"Christine, if you do not wish to improve, by all means, _do_ continue on in your mediocre way."

"I've never sang before, angel, you cannot be mad at ignorance." Erik's eyebrows rose at her boldness but he could not lie, he liked this strength within her. Had he never seen it as an angel because she was scared to insult a godly being or was this something new that he himself was watching grow before his very eyes?

"No, only at impudence. Follow my orders and soar amongst the stars, disobey them and find yourself amongst the ballerinas, is that understood?" Even after such a short time with him, she was able to seek out the positivity in his harsh words.

"So you think I have potential, then?" She had expected at least a smile from him, but received a curt nod before he spoke again,

"I think you have a great gift, Christine, which with the right training could lead you to stardom."

"You, of course, are the right training aren't you?" It was meant to be a joking comment, but the way he stared up at her from the piano bench said she had insulted.

"That's for you to decide, _of course_." He mocked her in a way that brought heat to her cheeks, but she could not help the small heat that arose in her stomach from his comment. He was smiling, the slightest of smiles, in a teasing manner and her heart lifted slightly as she let out an unrestrainable laugh.

"Then, of course, only the best will do. I'd be honored if you'd be my tutor, Erik." The jovial mood was snapped away as he shut his sheet music, a jerking motion of his head alerting her that he accepted his position.

"It is time that I take you home."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: As usual thanks for reading!**

**Trigger Warnings: sexual abuse**

The real world was grey compared to Erik's home under the opera house. Browns and tainted whites filled her everyday world as she strived harder than she had ever before to impress the constant eyes upon her. Erik was still there every day, every hour, watching and guarding her as she continued to train. Out of respect, she did not ask him of his relationship with the opera house or how he came to know it so well, or why he alone was allowed to hide in his secret crevices to protect her as he wished. So they continued on as they had before, but now she knew his mortality and knew what it would mean if anyone found out about their strange relationship. In the hours of the day she was a ballerina, but in the evenings she was a singer. Erik led her down into his home, his cloak wrapped about her shoulders, where he fed her a dainty appetizer before he pushed her to sing for hours on end. Finally, with exhaustion heavy upon her waif of a body, he fed her a hearty meal before carrying her back to her rack in the dormitories.

She could never tell him, she realized, of the longing for his comfortable mattress or down pillows, or the touch of his hands upon her cheeks, or his lips upon her own. But she ached for these things more than she was willing to admit, so much that a heat filled her in the evenings and when she found the energy she pleasured herself to the thought of him taking her again and again. Christine could not help it, she had known such a friendliness from only Raoul before, and that had led to kisses and an engagement. But she would not end this the same way, she would not let her tainted soul ruin a relationship between a man who was offering her the world.

So each evening, when her little body fell upon the thin slip of a mattress in the dormitories, she grasped his hand with her much smaller ones and thanked him with a brush of her lips to his cool knuckles. Oh what bliss it was to feel skin beneath her lips! After he played the piano, he once revealed to her in confidence, he could not find it within himself to constrain his fingers within the hot leather. And so as he carried her back up to her bed, she reveled in his cool hands against what bit of skin he touched. A brush against her hot neck caused her to shiver against him and so he would grasp her body tighter to his own, to ward off the cold. The feeling of his large hands, those beautiful hands that danced across ebony and ivory keys, through the thick material of the dress he'd given her, was heaven on earth. Raoul's pleasant kisses were the last thing to come to mind as she fell asleep at night, and for that, she owed Erik even more.

The dormitories were stuffed full of other workers full of ambition, hoping to rise to the top while they struggled at the bottom. Christine found that she did not like the others staying there with her, they were mostly men, a group of young men away from home for the first time and a group of old men who sneered and leered at all other workers, especially the ballerinas. The young men were usually respectful enough, the odd few who called out to the ballerinas in the wings did so jokingly, and a few of them had even taken the girls out on the weekends. Christine did not know much about this, all of her knowledge of the young men was gained from what little she saw of Meg, as Christine was often too preoccupied to care much about gossip between the gangly men and the giggling ballerinas.

"You might have a chance with him, you know, he's been staring at you all of rehearsal." Meg whispered, one evening, as the girls stood clumped together on break, each one louder than the next as they discussed their weekend plans. Her blonde head was inclined toward a horribly gawky looking young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with choppy blonde hair atop his crooked face. The only thing worse than the horrible crookedness of his nose was surely how shiny and greasy it looked, even from his distance in the wings where he stood watching them onstage. Upon gaining Christine's attention, he waved excitedly, thin arm raised high above his head and unsightly smile revealing cracked teeth. Christine had bedded worse, but had never planned to do so again.

"No thank you, Meg, I don't seem to have time for those sorts of distractions."

"Those sorts of distractions from what? A boy?" Christine had to contain her smile at the prospect of Erik being called a boy, no, she doubted he was ever boyish in his life.

"My career, Meg, perhaps _you _should pursue him instead." Meg, looking slightly offended at the idea when she had already so publically promised herself to a much more handsome fly technician, stalked away. Christine rolled her eyes at the low expectations Meg assumed her to have, but tried not to think on it as more than Meg's impossible competitiveness for attention that Christine was more than happy to let her win. Her eyes wandered, of their own regard, to Box Five. It looked empty to every other person in the theatre but Christine could feel the burn of his eyes upon her skin as he watched and critiqued, she wondered how much he could hear, if he was proud of her commitment to the craft she'd promised herself to.

"Dearie, you're in my way." It was a snarl from Buquet, one of the older men who worked on the fly system, a terrible man who reeked of sweat and booze. His grubby hand reached out and grazed the white of her rehearsal skirt, sending her tittering backwards on the stage, only then realizing that she was a lone ballerina amongst a group of technicians. They had probably gone off to lunch as she stared, entranced by the velvet curtains of Box Five that were tauntingly still.

"Apologies." He muttered through a sneer.

Her white skirt flounced, revealing more skin to the men she passed, as she raced into the wings in hopes of finding the rest of the girls. They had an hour for lunch and often they dressed and went out for coffee, she wasn't invited often but when she was, she found she quite liked the refreshing drink along with the fresh air. It wasn't often she was given the chance to spend time in the outside world, so she enjoyed the opportunity when given. The feeling of the male gaze stayed upon her as she traveled up the staircase toward the dormitory, but she could not find it within her to glance behind to see who was following. Whoever it was would have to leave when she changed, regardless, so she simply hurried along, fingers grazing the railing of the winding staircase until she reached the familiar door to her makeshift home. As she reached out for the rusted nob, she felt herself moving backwards before her brain was able to comprehend what was happening.

The grimy fingers of Buquet were snug upon her mouth as she was slapped backwards against the wall of the dark corridor, tears springing to her eyes at the immediate pounding headache she felt upon impact. Panic rose quickly, heart pounding as his bloodshot eyes traveled the length of her body with a snigger.

"Lovely, lovely, lovely, aren't we?" His free hand trailed the length of her thigh, up beneath her skirts, his heavy body pressed against hers so she was unable to do much more than thrash against his brute weight. Tears rolled quickly as she acted upon instinct, biting his dirty hand, only to receive a harsh slap across the cheek that sent her head against the brick wall once again. The corridor spun for a moment before she was able to focus on him in outright terror, the feeling of his pudgy fingers trailing across her tights sending disgusted ripples across her skin.

"Right, you'll shut the fuck up, give me a li'l suck and we'll see what happens from there, aye?" The smell of onions pervaded her nostrils and she felt her head spinning, unable to keep the flashbacks from flooding to the surface as tears flooded her cheeks and wetted his hand across her mouth. Horrible men that dug their nails into her scalp, even worse ones who held her against their thighs until she swallowed. She wanted to gasp for air, but was unable to and was growing dizzier by the moment as she realized he had released her thigh as he was working at his belt buckle.

"Bitch, you answer me when you're spoken to!" His grubby fingers pinched at her breast through her leotard, amazingly finding her nipple and giving a horrible squeeze that forced a screech of agony from her throat. In his fury, he tossed her to the ground, her hearing was lost as she stared up in horror, unable to look away as he moved to mount her, his horrible hairy stomach a much more pleasant sight than the grisliness between his legs. Her sight was flooded and she was helpless as he pressed his weight upon her forcing her against the damp ground, fighting with her to spread her legs as she attempted to clutch her knees shut with her mouth prepared to scream, when a great shadow was cast upon their tangled bodies. Shock and embarrassment poured over her as she realized exactly what the shadow meant, tears flooded even harder as Buquet was removed from her shaking limbs and she looked away as her angel dragged the man into the shadows.

She could not hear or talk or think, she only sat and waited in the darkness, entire body trembling as she laid sprawled in the corner. The pounding of her head was making her heartbeat echo through her skull, creating a rhythm that Erik walked in time with as he stepped closer and closer to her body. All of her senses told her to cower away from him, to retract her spread legs into a curled position and wait for all men to forget about her existence until she could crawl to her bed. But she did not. Her body flung itself at him instead, recognizing his voice and warmth but not taking in anything he said. The world was spinning around her and the flickering of the candles upon the walls were making her sick to her stomach, her face and neck were wet, she was freezing and curled close to the body carrying her. Gentle hands combed through her hair as incomprehensible words were sung softly into her ear as they travelled, before she felt herself reaching up toward him, the world slowly coming into focus in the darkness as her gasps for breath slowed.

Small hands came to rest upon his cheeks, the covered one cool and other bare and hot beneath her fingers, before she desperately pressed her lips upon his. They stopped moving and she realized for the first time that they were moving down towards his home, as his soft lips slowly reacted against hers. It only made her feel more wanton and useless to know that this kiss was not her first to give, oh but she wished it could have been. She wanted to give all of her firsts to Erik, he deserved every first of anything she had to offer, but she couldn't. Wishing horribly that she could retract every part of her soul that she had whored away for money and give it all to Erik, but knowing she could not, caused her the greatest pain imaginable. The tears were cascading down, tangling in her curls, falling upon his lapel, as their kiss grew more passionate. A heat sprung through her at the feeling of his tongue softly begging for entrance and she could not deny him, not when she wanted this so badly for so long. Oh what it was like to kiss an angel! Erik pulled away with a gasp; still holding her in his shaking arms as her weak hands slowly relinquished his face. They stared at each other for quite some time, hearts pounding loudly as they squinted in the dark to study the other's eyes.

"Did you mean that kiss? Or was that your way of thanking me?" The insult was not intended, she reassured herself, but it ached to know he would always remember her past.

"I wanted it…I meant it, I'm sorry that was inappropriate-" A gasp was lost in the darkness as her feet were released, and he crushed her chest to his own, curled toes dangling above the ground as he pressed her tight against the wall. Passion swelled as he delved his hands into her knotted hair, moaning to feel her kisses at his chin and neck in the darkness. When she had started wanting him, she did not know, but oh how she wanted.

"Let me take you home." She turned, expecting to head in the direction of which they came and for a formality to come over them as he straightened up to fix his cloak, but she smiled as he scooped her back into his arms and continued forward into the darkness. The throbbing in her head did not subside, the shaking of her limbs continued on, the utter humiliation of Erik having seen her with Buquet brought an unrelenting blush to her bruised cheeks, but she grinned as she stared up at the half-hidden face of her tutor as he stared straight ahead. He was taking her home.

**Reviews keep me updating :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Hope this hasn't been too much of a wait for those out there reading! I hope you enjoy!**

**Trigger Warnings: frank talk of death**

"What did you do with Buquet?" The empty silence answered her question, and she had trouble judging him for it. Erik had killed a man a mere yard away from her and all she could do was thank him; she was not able to question his authority as her mind flashed with horrible images of her past. Grubby hands upon her dirtied skin, candle light flickering across faces of ecstasy on men she didn't know, blood dripping between her thighs as she tried to stop her own sobs of pain. If Erik hadn't killed him, how far would Buquet have gotten? He would have succeeded, she reasoned with herself as Erik knelt before her, taking her head in his hands and feeling around her skull for bumps.

"Do you have a headache?" She shook her head in negative and he smiled, his mask only allowing half of his mouth to curve upward but the gleam of his eyes from the fire creating a quite handsome effect on his thin face.

"That's good. Any ailments I should attend to?" He was impossibly close, warm breath brushing against her lips as she leaned closer, amused to see a nervousness in his eyes as his hands drifted to a more relaxed position, cupping her face gently with his thumbs trailing across her heated cheeks.

"I'm burning, Erik." It was a seductive whisper as she leaned daringly closer, brushing her lips upon his in the most delicate ways, although he did not respond to her touch. Her voice was nearly hoarse with want, for once the passion she revealed was not an act for a man.

"Burning?" Even the voice of an angel cracked in passion and he cleared his throat, the epitome of a man at the end of his wits.

"Yes, on fire…" She dragged him into another kiss, hands clutching him by the shoulders, intoxicated by the taste of him. Oh how long it had been since she'd known a man's touch! Fire danced across her body as her lips tingled with his taste of red wine. His kisses were much different than Raoul's kisses were; Erik's were hesitant but more powerful, she was drunk on him as he responded eagerly, hands tangling in her hair to feel her pulling him closer and closer. Until finally she sat on the edge of her seat, legs spread open to allow him closer access to her body from his spot on the floor, they were face to face as he allowed her to lead the kiss. A timid tongue begged for entrance and she granted permission with a soft moan that had Erik flying away from her, struggling to his feet and turning his back on her with her surprised gasp ringing in his ears. Shaking hands smoothed his already perfect hair, a quivering hand wiped at his mouth, using his turned back as an opportunity to slightly lift his mask and wipe the sweat that gathered there.

"Erik? Did I do something wrong?" His glance at the tight skin revealed of her heaving breasts, angelically tossed curls, passion flushed cheeks and he cursed his weak will. His growing erection was not lost on Christine's experienced eyes but she spoke nothing of it, waiting simply for his response as the fire's heat flicked away at her already burning skin.

"How could you? You are the picture of perfection."

"Ah yes, but pictures can be deceiving. Even the ugliest woman could be good on the inside." The parallels were poorly cloaked but he seemed to appreciate her words and nodded slowly, facing the fire so that only his masked profile was visible to her.

"I will draw you a bath and you can stay here for the evening." His back was toward her again, already retreating toward the bedrooms, ready to be leaving her alone in the darkness of his home with only the fire to cast shadows upon the deep corners that felt as if they would close in with his absence, when Christine called out to him,

"And the evening after that?" Erik froze, turning back to face her slowly, his arousal apparent but his embarrassment well hidden beneath the angel of music's façade.

"As long as you need protection, Christine, my home is yours." But he did not continue retreating, instead he met her quivering form in the middle of the room and finally did she realize she should have been embarrassed to be around him in naught but her scanty leotard and rehearsal tutu, but she did not care. Rather, she reveled in his flickering glare as he took in her bare skin.

"Is that all you will offer me, ange? Protection?" Large hands were set upon her shoulders and she had to fight to keep her eyelids from fluttering shut at the pleasure she felt from the simplest touch of those musician hands. A large part of her mind told her she would be falling back into the pattern of a whore if she took him to bed as she so desperately wanted, and another part of her screamed not to betray Raoul, and the fear of how to act in bed for a man she cared about came crashing down upon her all too heavily. She was not normal, the thought reverberated through her mind no matter how hard she tried to close it out, she was damaged and no loving angel could fix that.

"What else would you need, Christine?" Slowly, he was coaxing her to open her eyes and meet his curious gaze. No woman had treated him like this before, that she was sure, no woman but a woman of the night would be as bold as she had been and she was horrified at how inappropriate he must have found her.

"It is just an honor to be near you, Erik." Hands fell from her shoulders to remain limp by his sides and it was difficult to keep from screaming at him to replace them upon her bare skin, to tell him how wonderful his gentle touch felt when she had gone so long without caring contact from another human.

"Let's get you into the bath."

He disappeared once the water was hot and she was ready to undress. She did so with little difficulty, the white clothing flittering into a forgotten puddle as she slid into the steaming water. That was surely God's greatest gift, hot water and the wonderful smelling bar of soap that she recognized as Erik's scent. Scrubbing away at her skin; she removed Buquet's grime, Erik's heated touch, the aches of sore muscles from ballet, the embarrassment of Raoul casting her out onto the street with not even kind words of encouragement, the fear of Madame Rouge's gang, strangers' fluids sitting between her bruised thighs, the dirt around her father's grave. Christine scrubbed until her delicate skin was pink from her efforts, until there was nothing left of her past and the future was hers to decide. What did she want? The ache of her throbbing heart was equaled only by the ache between her legs: Erik. She wanted to please Erik in ways he never dreamed of, until he could not cast her away when his interest with her was run out. No more would she accept this ever-changing lifestyle, she wanted Erik and she would have him.

She emerged in the nightgown he had laid out for her, the black cotton dragged on the floor as she walked and she even had to roll the sleeves up. It was not until she dawned the black silk robe that he had hung on the back of the door for her, did she realize that she was drowning in Erik's nightwear. It excited her to be so domestically wrapped in a man's clothing, and to feel the proof of his caring heart brushing against her damp skin.

"Erik, may I ask you a favor?" Hunched over the piano, quill in hand, he looked up at her and took her in with such an adoring look she wondered if he was even attempting to hide his interest anymore. Had she been blind this entire time? Had her angel always been so entranced with her, did he comfort her upon the bench in the park with the intention of wooing her eventually?

"Anything, Christine, you know that…You may sit." A tilted head gestured to the large couch that faced a large fireplace, the fire just barely flickering life as she curled her feet up under herself, enjoying the sensation of his soft nightclothes upon her bare skin.

"What is it that I can help you with Christine?" Folded papers came from behind her back, he could not imagine where she had kept them within her tight leotard but said nothing as she flattened the papers out with utmost seriousness.

"I don't know if I ever told you, but my father was a very skilled violinist-"

"I know, I was a fan." The curls around her face bounced as she snapped her head up to meet Erik's solemn demeanor, but of course nothing should have surprised her about Erik. He seemed omniscient, even as the sever recluse that he was, he managed to keep up on all news and popular stigmas.

"Oh. Well, he wrote me a piece of music before he passed. I have not heard it since; it would be an honor if I could hear you play it for me."

"On the violin?" He took the creased sheet music from her little hands as she nodded, nearly beaming with excitement as he made out the faded notes upon the age-colored paper.

"La chanson de Christine Daae." The words were silk upon his lips as he moved to his violin, unlocking it from its case and setting the sheet music upon his stand before looking up at Christine.

"Are you ready?" In preparation, she reclined back against the comfortable couch.

"Yes, sir."

He was only a few paces away from her and the orange flames of the fire licked at his white mask, coloring him in romantic reds and yellows as he set the bow to strings. It was perfect, better than she remembered it somehow, touching a piece of her heart that had not been kissed in so many years. Erik was severely concentrated on the music in front of him, playing each note to perfection, knowing and playing the falling rhythms just as she recalled them. The song spoke of her father's pain when her mother died, but the blooming happiness that came from raising his young daughter. Tears fell quickly, before her angel was even half way through the song, and she could not control the small gasps for air that tore through her as she remembered her papa. His kind grey eyes, the work-worn callouses on his gentle hands as he fumbled to braid her messy hair, the feeling of his fevered forehead as she attended his sick bed.

The song chased itself from beautiful highs to deep baritones, waltzing across her skin as her tears fell harder, eyes shut as she let her nostalgia overtake her. The song spoke so much of their relationship, but did not speak of the pain of having him ripped away from her after only fourteen short years together. The agony of being alone in the world after, for so long, depending on the only man she knew to trust. Christine knew as Erik reprised the four pages of sheet music, that he could feel each note in the way she did. The musician before her could speak and listen to music the same way her father had and there was no doubt in her mind that he understood the blissful pain it caused her to hear her father's voice through the violin. Swirls of blues and greens danced behind her closed eyelids, wrapping her in the countryside with her father's hand wrapped around her own, before the song pulled to a close. Erik met her gaze with a look that plead for approval and through her teary eyes she let out a gasp of embarrassed laughter,

"That was beautiful, Erik, thank you."

"Your father was a very gifted man."

"He was." The kind words could not pull her from staring at her white hands in her lap, drowning in the black cotton nightdress, looking so small even to herself. A handkerchief broke her concentrated stare and she accepted it with a few words of thanks, dabbing at her cool face as he stood above her. Still dressed in his finest, violin and music forgotten on the stand, Erik was the picture of sensuality before her.

"He would have liked you very much, Erik." With her tears collected by the white handkerchief, she looked up at him with a watery smile, pleased to see him return it as he tucked the white cotton back into his suit pocket.

"And he would have been very proud of you, Christine, of how much you've accomplished for yourself."

"Papa always wanted to see me onstage, I just wish—" Her voice broke beyond her control and once again Erik was kneeling before her with comforting hands upon her shoulders, "I just wish he'd had the chance. I thought my angel of music could tell him-"

"Hush, petite, hush now," It was the first time in decades since he had comforted another human and he found himself horribly awkward as her shaking sobs continued on and he tried not to grow annoyed at her disobedience, "the spirits in heaven do not need messengers. Gustav will see you as the Prima Donna, I promise you." A slightly damp kiss was pressed to his swollen lips as she tried to encapsulate the goodness he brought to her life, she wanted to return that joy so desperately yet she wasn't sure how. The kiss was deep and long, neither wanted to pull away, but Erik did not think he could take the feeling of her lips combined with the sight of her in his large nightclothes any longer.

"Off to bed, Christine, it has been a trying evening." Obeying, she headed toward the bedroom she had slept in last. Although she struggled slightly in the darkness, she soon dipped beneath the covers and cuddled closer to the fluffy pillows all about her. Sleeping upon her rack would be torture after she had been so spoiled in Erik's home. As her mind grew groggier and groggier, her father's music playing through her head, she began to question the time of night. It could have been days ago since Buquet's attack, but logically it was only hours, and yet so much had changed. She knew now what she wanted, and with the help of her father's spirit, she was determined to have him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I hope you enjoy!**

**Trigger warning: VERY mature sexual content**

Christine awoke in the night with a start, still drenched in complete darkness; it took her a moment to remember what had awoke her from her dreams; there had been a heavy shift of weight upon the mattress.

"Erik?" Voice hoarse from sleep, Christine debated moving to the bedside for a candle but froze upon feeling hands upon her face, desperately clutching her warm skin were cold, frigid hands. Her thoughts flew to Buquet's ghost, and whether or not Erik could protect her from even the dead, if the ghost would even let her call for help.

"Christine you are so beautiful." The words were not of the grimy stagehand, but of her angel. Golden silk enveloped her in the darkness as she felt his warm breath upon her lips; he crawled closer on the mattress, nearly straddling her reclined body.

"Erik, what're you doing?" Startled by his sudden breach of propriety, she could not help but flush at the heat radiating between them. Blind in the darkness of the bedroom, she reached up to find his face, gasping to find that his mask was missing and her skin had met mangled flesh.

"Christine, don't-" But it was too late for that, she had already pressed curious fingertips against disgruntled skin.

"Oh Erik…" Instinct attempted to pull himself away from her, but her firm grip on him held him steady. Beneath her hands, she felt the strong man above her shudder as she discovered the horrors he so desperately longed to hide. While one side of his face was smooth, handsome, perfect she could feel that the other was quite the opposite. The skin was sunken in until she felt his teeth pressing into her palm through a thin layer of skin, skin that was mangled and distraught.

Blind, she could only imagine what colors God had painted across this distorted canvas. Unable to stop her fingers from shaking, she trailed her quivering fingertips along the line of his top lip. Of course, she had felt the bloated upper lip when they'd kissed, but had half thought the power of his kiss to come from his own passion. But then as her fingers moved over the skin, it was quite obvious that his lips had so easily overtaken hers because on the masked side the lip was bloated—more than bloated—inflated horribly. Fingers roamed upward to find that his eyebrow was pulled up into his hairline, where the hairs were short and brittle leaving her to wonder if this was part of the deformity or if the mask had tormented the hair until it was ruined. All along that half of his face, the skin switched quickly and horrifically from too tight to sagging, around his sunken eyeball the skin was heavy and almost knotted.

Christine couldn't imagine living with something so painful. Without thinking twice, she pulled his savaged face closer to her own, and met his bloated lips with her small ones. Erik groaned against his will at their positioning, and passionately held her closer against his body as she eagerly returned the kiss with a soft moan of her own.

"Stop, stop this insanity-" The weight had shifted away from her, but a wandering hand on the bed sheet easily found him lying beside her, and she grasped his sweaty palm with a plea that he did not abandon her.

"Don't go…please, don't leave me." Her voice was small in the black room.

"Why Christine? So you can bed a monster? I bet with even all of your years in the brothel you've never met such a hideous creature." The words sank heavily in her heart and with newfound determination, Christine found herself crawling atop the unmasked man, even as he cried for her to cease.

"Have you gone mad, woman? Release my body you-"

"You, what, Erik? I do not think you wish to insult me, so let me save you the trouble." She set her face very close to his, able to feel his short breaths against her lips as his chest heaved beneath her. In the darkness she could not make out a single aspect of his figure, but could feel his heated gaze upon her as she straddled his hips, "I was a whore, I slept with many men for money and was good at it. I hate myself for it and lost my fiancé for it, shall I lose my angel for it as well?"

"You know that I could never relieve you over such an insignificant-" The darkness brought bravery, or perhaps it was the feeling of his stirring arousal growing beneath her that made her so bold.

"Then why do you bring it up so often, angel? Do you hate me for it?" It was a legitimate fear that she had not been brave even to even ponder upon in her private time. If he hated her for her past, she would have to leave immediately. Shaking fingers found her hands upon his chest and she let her head fall back at the feeling of his gentle fingers massaging her palms.

"How could I hate something that brought you to my arms? I hate the world, Christine, never the angels that are forced to live upon it."

"Are we all angels then?" Her voice was hushed as she felt her heart pounding stronger and stronger with his every admission, in the silence of his home she feared he could hear the horrible _thu-thump_ as she struggled to keep from shivering at their closeness.

"I have found just the one."

Her lips were upon him with such a ferocity that she was afraid to have scared her poor Erik. Unsure of when the switch from tutor to romantic interest had happened, she did not question the feelings stirring in her pit. Fire, everywhere, as his hands wandered up to run through her uncombed hair she relished in the feeling of his arousal swelling beneath her warmth as she felt herself aflame with a passionate flush. Moaning his name, she hurriedly pulled the blankets out from between them and dipped down to catch the flesh of his neck in a smoldering kiss.

"Oh Christine…" Her pulse was rapid and booming in her ears, so loud that she struggled to enjoy the sound of Erik's gasps of pleasure.

"Do you want me, angel?" Already her hands were tugging at his nightdress when she asked, but his groaning confirmation served as the last bit of permission she needed to disrobe him. Large hands sought her flesh, yanking the nightgown away from her with a rush that revealed his over-excitement to grasp her warm skin. Cool hands found her breasts and Christine let out a cry of surprise at the gentility that came with his touch.

"Is this-is this alright, my love?" Nerves rang through every syllable and her heart gave a painful tug at the sweetness in his tone.

"Does it please you?" She shivered as a wise finger found her nipple and circled around it, silence falling between them until her nipple was pebbled and taught beneath his touch.

"It pleases me to please you…have you ever been pleased, Christine?" Her heart jumped and his stifled chuckle told her he felt it. When she shook her head negative, she knew he could see her in the darkness by the way he switched her onto her back and hovered above her with a curious hand between her thighs.

"Erik!" Not wanting his hands to find her warmth, Christine attempted to squirm away, only to be halted with a shocked gasp at the feeling of his long fingers stroking the length of her wetness.

"Shhh, Christine," He cooed with excitement to feel her so eager and spread before him, "you've never been touched this way by a man, before?" Head lolled back, it was a struggle to concentrate on his question but she answered breathily,

"Never." Touching herself was nothing compared to his burning love.

"My poor petite," A finger slid within her and she called out his name, "how does it feel to have my finger within you?" Christine was used to naughty exchanges with past customers, but this was so much more intimate. He wanted to know how she actually felt and expected her to be able to vocalize the amount of exquisite pleasure he was doting upon her.

"It is- it's too good, Erik. I don't understand it." He had figured she wouldn't and in a moment replaced his trailing fingers with his mouth. A moan of ecstasy tumbled from her lips as she concentrated on being wrapped in the feeling of his bloated lips upon her. A throbbing emptiness berated through her, but she could not find it within herself to ask him to stop the wonderful teasing of his mouth. His finger slipped back into her and the shock sent her over the edge with pleasure, shuddering as she whimpered his name, clutching her own hair in an attempt to steady her spinning world of darkness.

"Oh Erik, I don't understand-"

"This is what my love can be like, Christine, please let me—please-" Erik panted his plead through broken kisses upon her waiting lips. To taste her salty flavor on his lips was a sin so arousing she thought she might find ecstasy again from the simple act alone combined with her bare breasts rubbing against his smooth, wax-like chest. He asked, dear god! He practically begged for what she herself was aching for.

"Yes, Erik! Oh god, yes please!"

Her own pleas were uncontrollable as he positioned himself before her, giving her a chaste kiss upon the forehead before he thrust within her. There was a slight moment of discomfort as her body remembered how to hold a man within her, but that was outshined by the wonderful weight he gave her. Erik begged her to allow him to continue, as if she could ever ask him to stop once he started, her agreement was immediate. Rhythm took some time for him to set, it amused her that the musician could struggle with such a thing, but the thought was lost as he drove deeply into her. Her hips met his of their own accord, her body seeking the pleasure she had so long been denied. Everything was falling into place as she felt Erik falling apart above her. Yes, she decided as his hot lips met her sensitive neck, she could understand paying for this. A fire claimed her as their skin slapped together and hot puffs of breath drowned her in his masculine scent.

To feel him within her was too much for her to handle and her hands shot up to clutch his tense shoulders and pull him into a heated kiss. He grunted her name like a prayer, each syllable a blessing he caressed with intense seduction as she found herself unwinding beneath him. The ball of thread that kept her steadied was unwinding faster and faster as Erik consumed her entire being. As Erik plunged within her and laid such adoring touches across her skin, she was reminded how lucky she was to have been found by him and how very bright the world was. A successful thrust to her core brought her close to her finish, gasping his name and slipping her own hand down her body to rub at the spot Erik had tickled previously. Erik's name breathlessly toppled from her parted lips as she found completion again, moaning out as he picked up the tempo.

Harsher thrusts in her sensitivity brought her to ecstasy again, her body slick with sweat as he collapsed upon her after filling her with his hot seed. For once, Erik's skin was hot and flushed against her own and she laughed out at the ability to wrap her arms around him and feel his head pillowed upon her breasts. A silence fell upon them as they both heaved for air, trying to retain breath control as their minds swam with the pleasure they were just granted. Christine ran her fingers through his thin hair, memorizing the feeling of contention in fear that she might never have it again. That way went the game, she realized with a bolt of horror along her spine, whenever things seemed perfect they managed to come crashing down around her. But Erik was not perfect, she hardly needed to remind herself, as the feeling of his deformity was pressed against her heart at the very moment.

"I love you, Christine." For a moment, in the darkness, she wondered what her wedding night with Raoul might have been like. Nothing like this, she was sure, they would have been so nervous to please each other while remaining proper that she could not even imagine finding pleasure. But he would have, a nagging voice reminded her, and that was what would have been important to her. It did not matter though, another reminder tumbled through her pleasure-numbed brain, because she was with Erik now and he seemed determined to bring her pleasure and so much more.

"I love you, Erik."

"You need not say it if it does not please you to." Hot breath tickled a nipple that had only just relaxed.

"Oh, but it does please me! You please me, Erik, you please me very much."

"And is pleasure equivalent to love, Christine?" The road they were heading down was growing darker with each passing moment and she had to backtrack to keep him pliant, not wanting his large figure to move from atop her for as long as she could manage.

"It does not matter, as I wish to bring you both."

"You pleasure me, my love, but do you love me?"

"I do." A sigh of pleasure brought joy to her heart and tears to her eyes. Her poor Erik, she had known him long enough to know that his soul was good. Maybe not pure, but good and he would do anything for her. To hear his pleasure at her admitting she would do the same for him was a beautiful thing.

"I love you and never wish to let you go." The atrocious dread filled her again at the thought of losing her angel, she was not sure how but she knew it could happen at any moment and her tears escaped closed eyes at the horrible thoughts.

"You'll never have to, Christine, as I am yours."

"And I am yours."

When she awoke, and blinked through sleep bleary eyes, Christine expected to be alone. Perhaps the spot on the sheets beside her would be slightly warm still and Erik would be a few rooms over, getting his head settled back onto his shoulders, ready to discuss their activities with a firm line for a morning smile. Christine was rather surprised that when her hands smoothed out the soft sheet, her fingers came in contact with heated skin. A gasp fell from her lips as her eyes raced up a naked torso to meet Erik's amused stare; the sconces on the wall held burning candles and his mask was once again in place, he'd been up for a while.

"Good morning." She murmured, unable to keep herself from blushing as he took her in. She had to look a right mess, she thought to herself, but his eyes took her in with a hungry glint to them. In the night, she'd somehow wound up in the very center of the bed, and now the off-white sheets were pulled about her shoulders as her messy curls stuck out every-which-way around her flushed face. She felt a nightmare, but Erik seemed to think otherwise.

"Hello, Christine." Strong arms pulled her toward his heated chest and she couldn't contain her laughter as he placed chaste kisses across her beaming face.

"Did you sleep well?" To be close to him was intoxicating, it was truly dizzying to feel his large hands against her bare skin and so naturally, like they had been at this all of their lives.

"Very well, Erik, thank you. What do we have to do today?" His eyes spoke of hours in that very bed, devouring each other again and again, bringing each other to the pinnacle of ecstasy just as they had the evening before; but with a gentle hand he brushed curls away from her eyes as he spoke in a firm voice,

"You're to head back to rehearsal in an hour or so, and then I will fetch you for your evening lessons."

"Did I do something wrong, ange?" At the sound of hurt in her voice, Erik took pity upon Christine and set hot kisses against the flushed skin of her neck. Little mewls of approval met his ears as small hands gripped his naked arms with a strength he hadn't realized she possessed, he chuckled at her insistence before kissing her soundly.

"Erik, will you really come for me tonight?"

"Why wouldn't I, my love?"

"It feels too wonderful to be true—to have you as my mentor and lover, I mean. It is the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me." Christine meant it, truly, she couldn't think of anything happier that she had experienced.

"It is too wonderful, but it is also true. Hurry, mon cherie, so I can escort you above."

**Please review :) **


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Sorry about the wait! Take a second chapter as consolation!**

**Trigger Warning: Frank talk of death**

Rehearsal was not a dull one for Christine. She had hoped that she would be able to slip easily into the monotonous dance routine before being whisked away by her masked savior. As she dressed for rehearsal, fantasies of the evening to come brought a strong blush to her cheeks, she imagined her vocal lesson going swimmingly before being taken upon the piano, legs spread from baritone to soprano notes as Erik rocked within her all the while kissing her in the way he did that made her feel so beautiful. These thoughts were shoved away by the feeling Meg's icy steel grip on her forearm, stopping her fingers from lacing up her pointe shoes.

"Meg, what is it?"

"Haven't you heard?" A look of delighted horror was spread across the blonde's face; excitement mixed with terror swam in her eyes as she practically buzzed in place at the ability to spread gossip.

"Heard what?" A few gasps of glee from the surrounding ballerinas filled her ears before white skirts came flittering around her, until she was surrounded by the handful of girls who had learned to ignore her amateur dancing but often succeeded in ignoring all of her as of consequence. Christine's handful of friends who took her out for coffees and pastries were nowhere in sight to save her from the gossiping crowd around her, so Christine was stuck amongst the girls as they tittered in anticipation of Meg's story.

"About Buquet. They found his dead body in the hall outside the dormitories, really Christine, as a resident of the house I thought you ought to know!" A flash of grubby hands and rum soaked breath made Christine wince and she felt herself paling as the ballerinas awaited her response. Her mind was upon Erik all at once, why hadn't she thought to tell him to move the body? Surely, it would come back to the man they knew roomed below the opera house, surely the managers would trace it back through Erik's tunnels. Her angel was an angel no more and it would be too soon that everyone found out; Christine would lose him.

"No, I hadn't heard a thing. That's…that's horrible. What happened to him?"

"Nobody knows!" A taller blonde, Michelle, answered in an excited whisper before Meg could cut back in,

"Well, it's obvious who it is, isn't it?" Blood surged through her so violently that Christine thought she might faint, her hands fisted in her tutu as she shook her head in negative.

"No, who is it?"

"It's the Phantom!" A choral gasp resounded from the girls and Christine was thankful that her relieved sigh mixed in without notice, Michelle let out a faux scream of terror. A small domino effect of screeches started up before Meg could shush them again, giggling as she slapped the girls playfully.

"You wouldn't be laughing if you saw him like I have, girls." Meg's lecture was met with more giggles, but Christine's argument was met with a harsh silence.

"Oh, but he isn't real! Meg, there aren't such things as ghosts!" Wide eyes looked upon her in horror as Meg set her hands upon her tiny hips.

"Oh yes he is, Christine Daae! I've seen him myself! And talked to him, even!" The hushed whispers of excitement started up again and a chill ran across Christine's bare arms.

"You have?"

"Mhm! Maman always warned me not to go down to the cellars, but I snuck down there, not too long ago. Could have only been a month or so ago, nobody had talked about the ghost in so long I thought I would be safe-"

"What were you going down there for Meg?" One girl called out.

"A quick roll with Jimmy Tucker?" Her friend asked and snickers broke out amongst the group, but Meg kept her focus on Christine.

"Shut it! It doesn't matter," More laughter, "what matters is what I saw."

"What was it?" Michelle was more serious now, face paling by the moment as the circle grew tighter around Meg. They were definitely running late, only half of the group was fully dressed, but Meg's audience was enraptured as she lowered her voice even more.

"A white mask, floating in the air, next to a burning lantern. That's what I thought it was anyways, until I realized it was a man, wearing a cold white mask over half of his face! And he sang to me!" A few dramatic gasps only worsened the goosebumps upon Christine's skin and she felt horror twisting in her stomach as she pictured Erik in the dark. By Meg's timeline, he might have been waiting around for Christine in the cellars, perhaps creating the latch for her to get down to the lessons from if it was that long ago.

"So what? It was a man in a mask." Christine's breathy voice sounded terrified though and a victorious smirk spread across little Giry's face.

"Well obviously a man only wears a mask for two reasons: he's hiding his identity or he's disgustingly disfigured, that's what Maman says."

"Or both!" Michelle's comment was ignored by Meg, but Christine could not help but remember her hands running over deformed skin in a dark room, of those bloated lips pressing heated kisses across her entire body in the dead of night.

"Christine, you look sick, are you alright?" The girl who had asked about Jimmy Tucker looked genuinely concerned but Christine shook her head, again.

"I'm fine, I just don't understand what this masked man has to do with Buquet-"

"Well don't you know the story of the Phantom, Christine?" Michelle asked, hands picking at her nails with anxiety.

"Obviously she doesn't, it's ok Christine, it all happened before you showed up." A few girls toward the outside of the group wandered off to get changed as Meg sat Christine down on the long bench that ran along the mirrored wall of the dressing room, "It happened all when I was just starting to officially train here as part of the corps, I don't know five or so years ago? But Maman says it'd been happening for ages before that!"

"What had been happening?" The horrific thought of Erik's hands committing crimes against other men made her cringe, and Meg did nothing to silence those thoughts.

"The strangest things, Christine! People would suddenly just disappear! Divas would go missing, sandbags would just fall from the fly area when no one was around! All sorts of things, props would disappear, costumes would be splattered in blood…it was horrifying! And it was all blamed, on _him_!"

"Him?"

"The Phantom, aren't you paying attention?" Christine nodded numbly, some sort of disconnect forming between the man who she had given her heart to the night before, and the murderer who had killed her near-rapist. They were opposites in her mind, he had killed to save at the time. Could her angel be the same Phantom as the one who had terrorized this company so completely? Erik hiding in Box Five, Erik's tunnels, Erik's silent exits and entrances—all of it came rushing to the forefront of her mind and Christine realized all too quickly, that no one knew of Erik but herself.

Morning rehearsal moved by agonizingly slow, the girls around her were aflutter with the gossip of the day. Twice the rehearsal was paused because of police officers crossing the stage and into the wings, heading toward the spot Buquet's body was found. Again, she felt the burning stare of Erik as she danced across the space, a flush igniting her body as her inner turmoil roared to life. To feel Erik's hands upon her would be the greatest pleasure, but to look him in the eye and know she loved a man who had tortured dozens of people broke her heart. She should have known, she tormented herself and her dancing suffered for it, but she should have known that the man who had lied about being an angel and killed so willingly, would have a story worth the terror of an entire opera house. Yet she still burned beneath his gaze and glanced up toward the dark box often, unable to keep the wanton gleam from her eyes. She loved Erik, it was too late for her to take that back.

After a soggy soup for lunch, Christine headed back to the stage, alone. Meg had spent the entirety of their break running around the benches, spreading gossip of "the masked freak" as quickly as possible. Each time she told the story, Erik grew in ridiculousness. In one he removed his mask to reveal he had no face, only two yellows eyes. In another, there was no lantern, but only a white mask covering a flaming head. The only piece of information that remained consistent, in the cafeteria at least, was that Erik always sang a beautiful piece of music that hypnotized Meg into stillness—the only reason she didn't call for others, immediately! Christine sat alone, the other girls bothered by her unwillingness to participate in the gossip, and listened as stories began to come from every surrounding person. The story most agreed upon was that he must be the ghost of an old opera singer, come back to run the place how he wanted it to be run.

It was truly ridiculous to endure and by the time evening rehearsals were ready to commence, Christine was truly fed up with Meg. She changed quickly back into her leotard and tutu, ignoring the chill that ran up her spine at the darkness of the dressing room and passing it off as the creepiness that Meg had brought upon the place, Christine huffed out onto the stage much earlier than Madame Giry had called for. All at once everything seemed to blur and slow. Nothing mattered but the sight of Raoul, in his best suit and top hat, standing downstage with the managers, Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin. Blonde hair perfectly combed, blue eyes sparkling with the reflection of the footlights, a bright smile perched on his perfectly pink lips.

The breath left her body in one great rush, and the chill from the dressing room had drenched her again as she stood staring at him. Half of her wanted to run toward him and the other half of her wanted Erik to steal her away immediately into the warmth of his cozy home. Once more she wanted to be trapped beneath Erik's rocking body as he claimed her again and again. But that was not possible, Christine realized with an agonized gasp, as Raoul's eyes met her own. Every inch of her body felt as if it was ripping in half, her heart was unwinding quickly into heavy tatters as recognition flashed in Raoul's gorgeous eyes.

"Christine!" His astonished scream caught the attention of all surrounding workers, even people in the wings turned to see the handsome man rushing toward the frozen ballerina.

"You know her, Monsieur Vicomte?" Andre was racing, with Firmin in tow, to stand at Raoul's side. She was unable to protest as Raoul took her freezing hands within his much softer one's as he took her in with bright eyes.

"Very closely, she is the closest friend I've ever encountered." Heat filled her face as Christine stood, paralyzed with shocked amazement, as Raoul took her in, "You look beautiful, Christine." The managers were huffing in place, fidgeting loudly, but the noise was mute to Raoul's ears as he stared deeply into her eyes. Oh, how easily it was to fall into that blue sea, how easily it was to allow Raoul to touch her so intimately, so publically.

"Thank you, Monsieur Vicomte."

"And why the formality, Christine? Do you not remember me as I remember you?" The question jerked her back to reality, and Christine yanked her hands away with a ferocity that brought hurt to the young man's face.

"I remember you perfectly, Monsieur. We did not leave off on a good foot, if I remember, but your unkindness was the reason I found myself here so I suppose I owe you a thank you. So," Christine was backing away as she spoke, very much aware of the audience she had garnered with her snap, "thank you and good day."

"Christine!" Raoul was following her into the wings, she could feel him at her heels as she raced into the darkness, trying to find the deepest corner she could with the hope he would not be able to see her in the shadows. A gasp tumbled from her lips as his warm hand clasped her wrist and spun her to face him.

"Christine? What is it? Why are you acting like this?" Tears were falling before Christine could stop them, as she looked up into the beautiful, oblivious face of the man who had broken her heart.

"You let them kick me out, Raoul, I had nowhere to go—I had nothing I had-"

"I know, Christine, I know and I'm so sorry. You must forgive me! I meant you no harm, I swear it…My mother died, Christine. Shortly after you left, she grew very ill and passed away leaving Phillipe in charge of the estate and I in charge of finances-"

"Congratulations-" Christine attempted to free herself, but Raoul had a tight grip and a sad face as he looked down at her, obviously hoping for pity.

"Don't you understand, Christine? My mother is gone, we can have each other now. Everything is going to be just as we said, it only took some time to-"

"No, Raoul." She felt eyes upon her as soon as the words left her mouth, her angel was watching, and with that little bit of encouragement she gently peeled Raoul's hands away from her.

"N-no?"

"No, I'm sorry, but no. I don't know if you realize this, but you threw me out on the street to die. You broke my heart, I loved you once but not anymore-"

"Oh Christine, you're just angry-" Raoul took a step towards her, but broke off when she quickly backed away. They were standing in a dark corner of the extra wing space they used to store optional set pieces that hardly anyone ever occupied; Christine had used it as a corner to hide in her first week in the corps.

"Raoul, I am not just angry. You hurt me, now it is time for you to go."

"I won't go, I'm a patron of the opera house, I have the right to be here. You love me!" His voice raised not in anger, but desperation. Though he did not reach for her again he stepped closer, until she was squished against the corner and staring up into the gorgeous blue eyes that had once stolen her heart.

"I don't love you, Raoul. I've found love in my Angel of Music. Please, let me go." Trying to keep her voice level, Christine moved to go pass Raoul, but he placed his hands on either side of her head. She was caged in and blushing as she heard voices growing louder, "Raoul, please let me go this is a very compromising position for me to be in-"

"Your Angel of Music? What does that mean, your teacher?"

"Of sorts, Raoul please-" She was growing urgent as she made the nearing voices out to be that of both Girys and the managers.

"But you love me, Christine, I know you do. You love me!" Christine shook her head as Raoul stepped away, a shaking hand running over his face and through his hair as he turned his back to her. Raoul looked anything but composed as he stared down at her, hurt and confusion swimming upon his features.

"Monsieur, is there a problem?" Andre was politely avoiding eye contact with Christine, but Meg was positively beaming with the sight of Raoul's tussled hair and Christine's flushed face. Only months ago Christine had been dreaming for Raoul to appear out of thin air and now that he was here she wanted nothing more than for him to disappear forever. The day's events were growing heavier and heavier upon her and she clutched her arms about herself, for no other reason than to try to hold herself together.

"Problem? No problem here, Monsieur. Mademoiselle Daae and I were simply discussing old times,"

"I'm sure you were." Firmin's mutter was silenced by Andre's firm jab to his gut, Raoul cleared his throat and continued.

"But we are quite finished, for now. I would very much enjoy a tour of the rest of the theatre, if you are still willing?"

"Quite! Quite, Monsieur Vicomte. This here is our resident choreographer, Madame Giry and this is her daughter…" The conversation trailed off and Meg sent Christine one last grin as the group moved away from her secluded corner. Exhaustion drifted over her as Christine leaned her head against the musty wall, eyes shut in the darkness, body grateful for the cool relief of silence. Everything had gone perfectly wrong.

**Please review! Hope you enjoyed!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Trigger Warning: Sexual content**

"Christine?" Cold hands found her bare arms in the darkness and lust consumed shivers raced down her spine as she reached toward her angel.

"Yes! Yes, I'm here. What's wrong, Erik?" He was breathless as he clutched her petite figure closer, wrapping her in his warm cloak and blinding her in the darkness of his silk vest. The lantern lay forgotten near their feet as his touch-starved fingers ran across her smooth cheeks and through her curls.

"Nothing, nothing is the matter…I wasn't sure if you would show when-"

Erik's voice broke off at the sound of creaking stairs and in a whirl of movement she didn't quite understand, Christine was once again basking in light. Erik had pulled them through the trick door of the cellar, and now they stood in the very tunnel she had fallen in not too long ago. The bruises were all but healed but little scrapes still remained on the skin above her knees, luckily between the tights and flowing skirts of her tutu, the damage had gone unnoticed. The tunnel bathed them both in light from the lantern and Christine couldn't help but grin up at Erik, it had been such a long day and his adoring face healed some of the aches she'd suffered alone.

"Of course I came, I missed you."

"It's been a meager sum of hours-"

"Oh Erik, I'm aching for you!" It was terribly wanton of her, but she needed him. With her hands caught behind his neck and their lips attached tightly together, he let out a groan of want.

"Aching?" It was a hot pant into her ear that had her shaking for more of his heated touch. Her eyes closed on her own accord as her excited fingers fumbled over the buttons of his vest, attempting to pull him free.

"Yes, yes Erik. Aching!" He was upon her all at once. Hands and lips everywhere, pulling down her tights and pushing the skirt up to her waist and she was glad she had changed out of her rehearsal tutu, Erik was everything and nothing at all. With one great thrust they were joined, his hand upon her mouth to keep her silenced as she stood on tiptoe to accommodate his furious thrusts. A feverish heat overtook her as his mouth consumed her, burning her neck and bruising her shoulder.

"Did you think of me, today?" His question went unanswered for a few moments as he continued to rock into her, mostly because Christine was trying to process the words over the pleasure he was bringing to her. When his hand pulled away from her mouth she realized he was expecting an answer.

"I thought of you all day. Oh Erik, how I wanted you-" Christine's whispered exclamation was interrupted by bloated lips stealing her breath away, sending her fingers into his disheveled hair as he found a spot within her that had her seeing fireworks. The wall behind her scratched at her shoulder blades and bruised the crown of her head, but she cared not for the pain as Erik was bringing her to depths of pleasure she'd never experienced before.

"And did you think of me?" Her question was as rushed as his movements, each word a forced puff of air in consequence of their bodies beating together.

"Christine, I think of nothing but you." The promise had her quivering fingers reaching into the collar of his shirt, needing to feel _something _of him. Leather scratched at her skin as his mask nuzzled against her, but she only welcomed the discomfort as it meant having him closer. Lantern light sent oranges and yellows dancing through Erik's eyes as he encouraged her to wrap strong thighs around his bony waist, and her head was thrown back in ecstasy as he pushed deeper within her.

The sounds of labored breathing and Erik's feet scuffling along the floor as he struggled to remain upright filled her ears under the sound of their naked skin slapping together. The sounds alone were orgasmic and they were so strung out on each other's bodies that neither really noticed the uncomfortable position they were in. Erik's thighs burned with effort and Christine's back was aching with pressure and scrapes but all he could think to do was finger the cluster of nerves that sent her over the edge, and her response was simply to find the pulse point on his neck and suck in appreciation of his every breath. His curse had her flushing an even brighter red as he rocked into her through his finish, filling her with his hot seed that she never thought to pull away from.

"Do you love him, Christine?" She was slightly drunk on her orgasm, leaning against the wall for support as Erik's question pervaded her ears. It took her a moment before she realized who he was talking about and was able to stroke his face gently as she responded,

"Erik, I thought I did once, but I am yours now."

"That doesn't answer my question." His face was very close to hers and in the flamed lighting all she could think of was how beautiful he was, the mask seemed to be grinning down at her as her mind swam with the brilliant sensations still unravelling across her skin. Raoul's face swam through her mind for a moment, the look of him disheveled and hurt at her refusal in the dark corner of the theatre. But Erik's face prevailed, his beautiful eyes attempting to read her stoic face.

"I don't love him, Erik. I doubt I ever did, I only love you." Her words were met with a satisfied nod and a desperate kiss, her body pushed against the damp wall one last time, before she was carried deeper into the darkness.

Black silence pushed in on her from every side, nothing was before her and nothing was behind her, Christine was alone and sweating as she gasped for air. A horrible dream woke her. Hope as she might for Erik's presence in the large bed, she awoke alone and frightened, paranoia prickling her skin as the darkness seemed to press in on her. A splash of water and flailing arms set her heart pounding again as she remembered her dream, remembered Raoul's paling face as her own voice grew hoarse from screams. It took her only a few moments to wipe the hot tears from her flushed face, before she heard a soulful call from the piano.

If she called out Erik would not hear her, as a song started up and began to fully develop she knew he was slowly becoming more and more entranced with the music surrounding them. Christine crumpled back into the pillows and breathed deeply, closing her eyes and attempting to will away the horrible visions still flailing through her mind. It had terrified her enough to wake her, but the full plot of her dream became murkier and murkier as the minutes dragged on. Raoul's horrified face remembered with her, the sounds of her own screaming, a body flailing in murky water, and blood. Blood was running from her own hands, dripping onto the white of her nightgown, but she was not cut. With another unsettling jilt of her stomach, Christine realized the blood belonged to Buquet and dissolved into another tantrum of tears. Everything felt sparked with energy in her life, suddenly everything she had been cast away from was running toward her and she could do nothing about it but stand still in the arms of a disfigured man who wanted to wipe all of her problems away, with good intentions but what sort of actions?

Sleep fell over Christine's exhausted body like a cloak, all at once suffocating her back into a state of peace. No more nightmares came to her, no blood, no water, and no screams of terror as she begged for something she did not understand in the real world. No more nightmares came, but a deep, silent sleep lulled her away orchestrated by her brilliant lover. The song was intense and violent, but she was asleep within minutes, mind at rest as Erik played away seemingly unaware of the plagues of her innocent mind.

The days dripped by slower as Christine continued on with Erik's lessons. By day she tried to perfect her ballet and ignore the whispers about the supposed Phantom, while side-stepping the persistent Vicomte who was there upon "pure business" as a new, important, patron of the opera house. By day, Christine had not a second of peace as she danced to exhaustion and fumbled excuses to Raoul about where she lived, where he could find her. By day, Christine remained huddled within herself as she ached for something more than a life of scurrying from place to place about the theatre. But by night, Christine was free; a dove allowed to fly any which way she liked so long as it was through song. By night, Christine scoured through Erik's magnificent collection of musical scores and soaked in the smell of aging ink and parchment. By night, Erik's fingers travelled across her heated skin as he brought her to completion again and again as he reminded her who exactly was above her and within her. By night, she was Erik's and being Erik's meant owning all of the freedom in the world.

Erik was possessive and greedy with her and her voice, taking all that she could give until there was nothing left before he would let her rest. Some nights she was near exhaustion and hoarseness before Erik allowed her to retire from singing. Other nights he had made love to her so completely she felt as if she could not remember her name, let alone move her body, before he allowed her to fall asleep. Erik was a controlling man but a giving lover, never leaving her without completion or satisfaction. He took care of her needs before his own, as often as he could, before he finished with shaking hands and gasps of his extraordinary pleasure.

But there were many nights when Christine awoke alone, expecting to feel Erik's cool hands around her, to hear the sounds of music so beautiful she did not understand where it was coming from. Outstanding compositions trickled through the eerie halls of Erik's home until it felt as if he was in bed beside her again and crooning into her ear. The songs were hardly cheerful or upbeat, usually she was left shaking with the seduction the notes played out across her body, making her writhe in want as she waited impatiently for Erik to return to their warm bed. And when he returned he was already fully aroused and would undress with a swiftness that amazed her before he cherished her body so wholly she felt as if she was being blessed by him. There were nights though, when the music sang of depression and heartbreak, the same chords in succession for what felt like hours would taunt her ears before she broke down into tears. And when Erik clumsily made his way into bed, he would only come to calm her for a few brief moments before he disappeared again.

Her awakenings were never discussed, she never questioned Erik on what he was playing in the dead of night, and he was always beside her in the morning. Fully dressed, mask shining in the candle light before she dressed and he escorted her back to the world above. Sleeping below was never questioned, it didn't feel an option to return to the bunks again, not when Raoul was apparently scouring all of Paris for her. Instead, at the end of the day, Christine trudged down to the darkest cellar of the opera house and waited for the familiar bobbing light in the very back of the room before she would disappear once again to their home.

"Who is he?"

"Excuse me, Raoul I have to change for the next dance-" He caught her arm in a firm grip and pulled her toward his warm body. The wings were so aflutter with ballerinas dashing toward the dressings rooms and stagehands getting ready to set for the next scene, that the Vicomte's presence hardly drew attention in the bustling space.

"Christine, you owe me the decency to tell me the name of my competitor."

"Raoul, I owe you nothing. Now if you will please remove your hand from my arm." He didn't, instead pulled her closer until she was nearly pressed to the front of his chest. It was not the first time he had harassed her about Erik, but it was the first time he had ventured into the wings. What next, would he interrupt her onstage?

"Please, Christine, you're right you don't owe me a thing. But please, I need to know his name. I've asked all of Paris' musicians if they know of any sort of vocal tutor who would be wanton with a student, and nothing. Are we so sure he exists?" Blue eyes were welling with desperation and it pained her to see the man she once loved so pained.

"Of course he exists, Raoul, unhand me." He ignored her order, the determination in his eyes still full of fire.

"What is his name?"

"Raoul, his name is of no importance. I love him, please leave me alone before I'm late for my mark!" Managing to yank her arm from his grip, Christine changed in a rush and barely made it to her place for the next dance on time, when she saw the swish of curtains in box five. Her heart gave a leap as she used those velvet curtains as her spot-base for her turns, her head whipping round and round to the same spot where she knew Erik hid. Had he seen Raoul's advance?

"Christine…Christine, may I speak to you?" The gaggle of ballerinas within the room snickered and winked at her as Raoul stood in the doorway of the dressing room, brushing blonde hair away from his forehead with a look of distress.

"Fine. Somewhere else, I suppose?" Her succession was merely in hopes that these sorts of requests would end in the future.

"Yes, bring your coat." Retrieving her cloak from the rack near the door, Christine tied the blue knot tight around her throat before donning her red scarf, and then followed Raoul through the halls of the theatre. He did not speak, but only led her up staircases she had not noticed before, many lurking close to the managers' office and dusty enough to garner the conclusion of disuse.

"Where are we going, Raoul? I trust you aren't trying to abduct me." Her voice held an air of exhaustion at his games, but Raoul glanced back at her in amusement.

"Abduct? Of course not, when you leave with me it will be by your choice and your choice alone, because you love me!"

"Oh yes, of course, how could I forget."

Her sarcasm was ignored as they reached the end of the very slim staircase they had been travelling up. At the end of the case was a small ledge with a large door, that Raoul shoved open with the weight of his shoulder and an unbecoming grunt of exertion. A gasp escaped her before she could contain it, they were standing on the roof of the theatre and little snowflakes were floating through the air, painting the sunset with little specs of blues and whites.

"It's beautiful, Raoul, how did you find this?"

"Andre showed it to me on the grand tour; I thought you might enjoy it."

They stood in silence for some time, each taking in the scenery with different eyes. It had been so long since Christine had been outdoors, it hadn't even dawned on her how much she ached for fresh air but oh how lovely it felt to be reunited with the sky! Crisp wind billowed her skirts about and snowflakes tickled her cheeks and melted in the shining curls of her hair as she breathed in Paris in the winter. From atop the opera house, she felt as if she could see every corner of the world. Raoul's house was not too far in the distance, the park Erik had found her in was merely a handful of blocks away, and if she squinted she could make out the estimated area of Madame Rouge's motel. A cold hand gripped her heart and she turned toward Raoul quickly, his eyes were focused on hers but seemed confused at her sudden panic.

"You have not told anybody else, have you?" Confusion flickered in his glorious eyes before understanding slid into place.

"No, it isn't my place. Does your teacher know of it…of your past?" Ignoring the intrusive question, Christine turned away from Raoul, unsure if she should be relieved or annoyed by him, but warm hands on her shoulders spun her so she was facing him again just an arm's length away.

"Christine, I don't want to frighten you, but I have a hunch who this angel of yours is and I don't trust him."

"Oh yes? And what is this hunch of yours?"

"Meg told me you paled at the speak of this so-called Phantom and that Buquet always had a special interest in you…" Blue seas dared her to argue his point and she could feel herself faltering, she could not have been more nauseous had she been looking over the edge of the building.

"How amusing, but Buquet is dead and no musician, he and I couldn't possibly be-"

"I don't mean Buquet, Christine. Don't toy with me. I mean this Opera Ghost and your Angel sure have similar attributes, don't they?"

"I don't know what you mean." It was suddenly too hot upon the roof and she wanted to remove the silken cloak from her shoulders, she would suffocate soon if she couldn't get some air.

"Well, the general public hasn't seen either together, you've started disappearing from the dormitories-"

"Oh Raoul, how ridiculous! I haven't seen you and William Shakespeare in public together either; may I assume it was you that wrote Hamlet?"

"How long is it going to take before you admit you won't tell me who he is because he's a murderer?" Her heart nearly stopped upon Raoul's fierce words and she drew herself away from him with a scornful look, one she hoped would bruise as she bustled toward the open door leading back to the descending stairwell.

"I'm late for a meeting, Raoul, excuse me. You definitely do have an odd way of showing affection!" Her hiss of annoyance was met with a plea for her to return to the roof with him, but by the time it met her ears she was already making her way down the stairs. For a few moments there was silence, besides her heels clicking on wood, before she heard the wooden door slam shut.

"Christine! Christine, you deserve better!" Fire was surging behind her eyeballs and tears of pride and fury spilled over quicker than she would have intended. The man was absolutely infuriating! Her ears were echoing with the sounds of her fast pumping blood and her skirts moving furiously as she raced down the staircase, eager to be rid of Raoul's infuriating presence.

"Raoul, if you come near me again I will be forced to show you exactly what my love is capable of!" Her call echoed in the open staircase, there was no response from the young man but she knew her message was clear. Now, all she had to do was explain the situation to Erik. All at once, everything was on the line and all because of one man's annoying loyalty to a girl she no longer was.

**Author's Note: This was a bit of a pusher chapter, the next chapter is when we really start to see the effects Raoul is beginning to have on Erik and Christine's arrangement. Hope everyone is enjoying so far, please review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, busy week here at university! Hope you enjoy and review!**

**Trigger Warning: Sexual content**

In her dreams, a masked figure stalked toward her and pulled her tightly into a kiss. Erik. His name was merely a breath upon her lips before he was dazzling her, beautiful eyes caressing her skin as he scooped her into a dance. It was a waltz, where they spun and spun, her beautiful dress shining and billowing out as Erik guided her across the floor. Other couples surrounded them, all dressed lavishly and spinning in the same style that Erik lead her in. But none were looked on so lovingly as the way Christine was by Erik, with gloved fingers caressing her chin, bringing her into another kiss. When he pulled away, there was no mask. A scream broke from her lips. It was a travesty to look upon, even more horrible when pulled into another kiss. Ugly. This beautiful man was hideous, his skin gone completely to reveal red muscles and gore stretched across protruding bones. The face was there for merely seconds before she was left standing alone with the memory of its horridness burned into her memory. Laughter, loud and unruly, surrounded her as she shrank to the ground in the middle of the ballroom. Her dress was no longer the shining gown it had once been, but once more the restricting corset Madame Rouge had demanded she wore. Christine crawled about looking up at these tall dancers, hoping behind hope that she could find Erik, panic high in her throat and tears pouring from her eyes. What had happened? Why had he gone? Why was she alone again? The shreds of a skirt covered near nothing and the sneers of the crowd were going harsher as she remained searching for her love. She wanted Erik-

"Christine!" His large hands were shaking her awake and the sight of him so close brought immediate tears to her eyes. Why was she so overcome by such a ridiculous nightmare? She could not find a way to calm herself but to wrap her arms tightly around her masked lover, reveling in his warm skin, caressing the back of his flushed neck, pressing desperate kisses to every bit of skin she could reach.

"Oh Erik, I've missed you." She felt him shift above her before rejoicing in the sensation of his large hand brushing curls away from her face. Even in the darkness, he could see her perfectly, yet she was left with only the sensation of heated skin to work for her blind eyes.

"I've been here with you these past weeks, Christine, yet I feel as if your head is lost elsewhere."

"And have you missed me, Erik?" Where his voice was distant and proper, Christine's was airy and romantic. Rose colored cheeks burned at the sensation of his long fingers tracing the skin of her neck as she struggled not to urge him closer. The rustle of cotton sheets against her burning skin was an aphrodisiac with the combination of his cool gaze.

"I have missed peace in our lives since the Vicomte has been here. I want him gone."

"Gone?" Her concentration was slipping quickly from her grasp as those magnificent fingers trailed down to trace her breast.

"Yes, gone. Your conversation with him on the rooftop only stirred his curiosity with me, my love. He is a danger to our life."

"Our life." She had nothing else to say, her conversation with Raoul had been weeks ago and he still strolled through the theatre with a high-set chin. Lurking in shadows, cornering her in the wings, watching from the house seats with his fingers trailing along his silk scarf, Raoul was an annoyance that had slowly grown on her. Having him around was the comfort of constantly having a friendly eye watching after her, he knew all that happened with the theatre seeing as he seemed to spend more time there than even Christine.

"Yes, our life. You must be sick of this sneaking about, aren't you, darling?"

For once, Christine heard the anxiety in his voice. This was not the seduction of an annoyed lover, this was the fear of a man grasping onto the one thing in his life that made him happy. Herself. Christine was the one candle still burning in Erik's life and he was scared that one day, she would simply go out and never return again.

The sneaking about he spoke of was not as troublesome for her as it seemed to be for Erik. Christine rather enjoyed having Erik whisk her away and down secret passages after rehearsals. Wherever she seemed to be after a long day, large hands would grasp her about her middle and pull her into darkness. During the day, she was often caught giggling with the Vicomte over one rehearsal mishap or another. She avoided her ballet duties with the excuse of Raoul's light conversation and delightful impressions of the managers and Carlotta. Yet at the end of the day Raoul always wandered about wondering where Christine went, while Erik carried her off and down to their home for their nights filled with love and music. Apparently, her lover tired of this game.

"What are you proposing, ange?" Her breath caught around his pet name as he pulled her attention back to his hand, which was skimming the burning skin of her stomach, roaming up and down as she waited with bated breath for him to continue.

"You can make him leave, Christine, I know you can. If you truly meant what you said, if you showed him you have no love for him, the boy would be gone and I could have you to myself again." A sadness filled her with the thought of rehearsals filled with an empty house and only hours of dancing to look forward to. Erik sensed this and pulled away from her, the sudden absence of his hands pulled a feline whine from her as she was left alone on the mattress.

"You don't want him to leave, do you Christine? You like his boring dialogue and cursed beauty as much as you like the sinful delights of my hands and body pressed into your own!" His anger was mounting in a rage filled storm that had Christine cowering slightly against the pillows,

"All is well in the dark where you can have all that I give with your imagination spinning visions of his beautiful body above your own, isn't that true?"

"Erik, of course not-"

"Do not lie to me!" His voice boomed before a silence fell between them, Christine sat staring in the general direction she assumed he stood at, for quite some time. He could leave her, she realized with horror brewing in the pits of her stomach, Erik could leave her forever alone to rot in this cave.

A candle was lit and the light shocked her, burning her eyes slightly as she glanced around for Erik. She blinked back tears as her eyes adjusted to the new light. In the corner, near the dresser, he stood in complete shadow. The white of his shirt beneath his dressing robe had given him away, for once it was his clothing not his mask that had betrayed him, and then Christine realized he wore no mask. There was no sliver of white to cover the shadowed face and a nervous excitement coursed through her. Leaning up in bed, the sheet falling to her waist and exposing her pert breasts, Christine wanted to be as vulnerable as possible in Erik's eyes to even the playing field between them.

"Erik?" For a vain moment, Christine ran her fingers through her curls and attempted to tame them about her, but the messy hair framed her face as it liked, and with her attempts soiled she remained still as his eyes roamed her.

"Erik what are you doing in the dark, let's sit and talk about this." A smile spread across his face at her weak attempt for peace.

"Your wish is my command." And with those whispered words, Erik moved into the light. Step by step, coming closer to her with a proud smirk resting across that face, the ugliness of it sending cold shivers down her spine as the man she loved towered over her. His face hovered only inches from her own, a threatening glint in his eyes daring her to deny the horrors he'd lived with, as her mouth hung uselessly open before him.

"Is this what you imagined, Christine, when I told you I was an ugly man?"

"N-no."

"No, no. You had expected what? A large mole perhaps? No, my love, I hate to disappoint you, but my beauty mark is much larger than a misplaced mole."

Her eyes took in his savage face with a look of dread in them that she could not remove. She had not expected a mole, but nothing could have prepared her for this. The usually covered half of his face was a horrible sight of pinks and blues that painted sunken and stretched skin into an ugly disarray of colors. It was horrible; the skin was not just scarred but bloated and daubed with what could be seen as bruises but she knew to be discoloration. God was a colorful artist, using splashes of blues and purples on the sagging skin that held his magnificent eye in place, pinks and browns were the color of the canvas overall but whites and yellows and reds dyed the skin until it looked like melting wax. As if his own skin wanted to escape the horrors he was forced to live with. The shallow of his cheek was practically grey, the skin at his hairline was burned yellow from the friction of his mask, and the entirety of his deformity was irritated with red patches of skin that looked hot to the touch.

It was worse than she could have ever imagined it, yet she remained still as she took him in. A snicker erupted from him as she reached a shaking hand up to touch his cheek; he claimed it in his grasp before tossing her wrist to the side with a cackle. The same hand that had abused her wrist ran up to tangle in her hair, pulling viciously at her scalp until she was mere inches from his face, her cry of shock was silenced with another tug for obedience,

"Do not touch the beast, darling, he is not tame."

"This changes nothing, Erik."

"This changes everything!" With his desperate holler he grasped her thin shoulders with a bruising ferocity and shook her in her place, "This ruins everything! I am not the same man who stole you away, don't you see that, Christine? We've changed! I am a monster!" His frantic ravings frightened her more than the way he pushed her back onto the middle of the bed, sending her sprawling naked atop the sheets. But she continued to reach for lucidness, for him to understand the reality of their relationship.

"No Erik, you are still the angel who saved me in the park. You gave me music, you gave me a voice-" When he interrupted her she dare not move from where he had thrown her.

"Yes, I gave you my music and you stole my heart." It was a depressed murmur as he stared down at her. The candle on the bed stand flickered new light onto his scars, the waxy skin appeared silky under the yellows of the light.

"Just as you stole mine. I love you, Erik." The man before her averted his eyes to his long fingers, which were fidgeting about in front of him. Seemingly ashamed for his brute violence, she could practically feel the pain and horror of the situation radiating from him.

"What do you know of love?"

"I know what it is like to lose the only person who loves you, Erik; do you forget how often I have been abandoned?"

"No! Never, each day I am reminded that it is all that you know, all that you are capable of repeating." Embarrassed pain coursed through her, sending tears to prick her eyes as Erik once again turned his gaze to her.

"You think I'll leave you." The tears that coursed down her face were not of terror or shame, but of the true heartbreak that comes from a loved ones' distrust.

"I would not blame you, not now that you've seen me. I want you to know who you lay with, who you claim to love, and who you are leaving. When you are gone I do not want regretful tears of what could have been, I want you baring his children and laughing at the disgusting creature you left behind. I want you to sob with the thought of allowing this animal to claim you," Erik's voice remained level but as he spoke, he crawled toward her naked form on the bed until he was pinning her down with his weight. The voice that seductively swam in her head held an edge of danger under its silkiness. He stroked her face as tears began to trail down her cringing face beneath him, "and I want you to puke at the idea of me controlling your every pleasure because you are mine, Christine. Body and soul, I own you and no matter how far you go or how long you are away, you will never forget the pleasures I have ripped from you." Gentle fingers stroked her forehead and wiped at her tears as his menacing words continued to weave through her head.

"I love you." Her whisper was nearly lost through her tears, her chest was heaving for air as he remained astride her, a grin spreading across his face but not meeting his eyes.

"I wish you were blind, Christine. Have I ever told you that?" His thought process was impossible to follow and she was growing more and more exhausted with each passing moment. Her tears were hot on her neck and tangled in her shining curls.

"No, you haven't." Heavy eyelids fell closed, but Erik's cool hand upon her cheek yanked them back open to meet the horrors of his deformity once again. Not even closed eyes brought relief from the horror, the inside of her eyelids were scorched with the sight of him, and she realized that what he had said was true. She would never forget him or his face.

"Do you know why I would like to blind you, angel?" Shaking her head in negative, Christine felt no true fear, not even as his fingers returned to stroking the skin of her face with a gentle possessiveness that screamed of danger.

"Well, I would like to have blinded you months ago. So you could never see my face, so you would rely solely on me for living. I considered it, honestly, but was not confident I could pain you like that and have you know it was I who had done it to you…So I searched for other options. I would sit in my composition room and play for hours as I contemplated other options, and when I found one that I loved I would play it again and again until I came back to find you weeping. It was as if you knew, Christine….did you know?"

"No Erik, I don't know what you're talking about-" And she was being honest, even as memories flooded through her and she was reminded of nights curled in his arms before awaking alone again to the sound of sorrow coursing through their home.

"I wanted to deform you, my love. Until no one could ever want you, until you couldn't even recognize the beautiful woman you once were, until you were even more hideous than me. And then I would remove my mask and show you that we are meant for each other, that I love you through your ugliness, and that as horrible as I was I could still see your inner beauty….What do you think of that, Christine?" There was no denying her pounding heart that sat in her throat, the vision he had spun for her was horrifying and she did not doubt he was capable of it. Erik was a man on a ledge and even the smallest shift of the wind could send him tumbling into madness.

"I don't believe you." Christine called on the bravery her father had told her that her mother was famed for, if she could be half as brave as her mother was than she could keep her Erik. He was a troubled man, a tortured man, a difficult man—but he had a good heart and she would not let him take that from her.

"No?"

"No, you would never hurt me. If you love me even half as much as I love you, you could never hurt me." And with that as a warning, Christine arched up and pressed a kiss to his misshapen lips. She remembered their first kiss then, how thrilled yet nervous he had seemed by her forwardness. Oh but she had wanted him then so badly that she felt scorched by his every gentle touch. Now was the same, he resisted only slightly as she moved her hands to grasp his damaged face. Little whines of protest escaped him as she rolled them until she was in control, straddling his hips and coaxing him to fill her with little thrusts of her hips.

Erik gasped as he filled her, shocked at Christine's boldness as she rode him in the candlelight, hands gripping his shaking fingers to her breasts as she bounced above him. Every uncontrollable jerk of his hips sent her sprawling above him as she greedily moaned for more of his touch. Eyes wide open and lips spread in a smile, Christine made love to him as she whispered words of adoration against his ear. Soft kisses were placed against his cursed cheek as she found completion, calling out his name again and again as he lay practically frozen beneath her, finding his own completion with eyes staring straight into her own. His mind was surely playing tricks on him, but as she curled against him exhausted in their shared sweat and pressed more kisses to his deformed jaw, Erik broke down into sobs of horror and apologies.

"You can't be blamed, my love, you are forgiven." Her words echoed through him again and again as he watched her eyes slide shut and her body drift into a fretless sleep.

**Please review, it's what keeps me updating!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: We're almost at the end of the story! Only a little bit left, hope everyone's been enjoying as we go!**

It took some getting used to, seeing him without his mask, though it grew to be more and more welcomed. Her Erik being maskless was a sign of his comfort, was a sign of them being curled within their own home. The mask was only donned when he went out to meet her after rehearsals or when he went out on his own in the evenings to run errands. Little brought Christine more pleasure than seeing him at the piano with his face bared, so she could sit curled upon the sofa with a mug of cocoa, watching the wrinkles in his forehead move as he composed. For her lessons, her voice rang through their house lonesome and clear and she felt loved and cherished as he closed his eyes and blindly listened to the voice he had crafted.

The lessons grew to a higher ranking in her heart when Erik would sing with her when he felt up to it, though she knew he secretly treasured their duets as much as she did. Their voices soared, woven together in harmonies of love and lust, as he stared up at her from his seat at the piano. It was not uncommon for their songs to end with passionate embraces right there upon the music room's carpet, with the blazing fire from the grate beating down on their already hot bodies. Hands hurriedly yanked at linen and lips burned kisses together before Erik found his home inside her. Again and again she would call out as she looked at the man she loved and knew there was no way she could ever tire of being loved by him.

—

"All goods things must sail, but the tide will bring them back in."

"Do you promise?" Her question brought a smug smile to his crooked lips.

"It's only a few hours, my love. Don't look so down." His warm promise tugged a smile onto her own cheeks, so that they stood huddled in the darkness of the bottom cellar beaming at each other, faces merely a few inches away from each other.

"I know it, I just hate to leave you all day. I'd much rather being spending my time with you than La Carlotta or Meg, or any of the company really." The widening of his smile really was something she should have been used to by then, but the effect it had on his entire face was so beautiful it brought butterflies to the pit of her stomach. To see his smile so freely was a blessing; seeing him in his mask was slightly jarring after so many hours of intimate freedom, yet the mask could not hide his beauty from her, the glint of his teeth, and the brightness of his eyes. Somehow, his smile transformed the musky cellar into quite the romantic spot.

"Oh that's understandable, angel, you can't be blamed for that one. Alright, now up the stairs, think of me."

"Maestro, I do believe I should be thinking of my ballet, not my romantic interests, at least in rehearsal." She jokingly laid a hand to her chest in faux indignation, but Erik's chuckle and kiss on the cheek had her wrapping her arms around his torso in another much needed hug, before looking up to him as he spoke,

"That you should, that you should. But which is it that you prefer?" And for a sliver of time a little more of Erik's insecurities were laid bare before her; the coolness of his eyes stuttered for the briefest moment that revealed genuine worry that she would pick her craft over her love.

"I prefer you over everything, my love, and I hope you feel the same. I'd rather spend a mere moment wrapped in your arms then a thousand moons upon the stage." Christine's hands looked so small on his sunken cheek and the glaring leather of his mask, and even smaller between his large hands as he pulled her palms to his lips for him to kiss.

"Of course I feel the same way for you, Christine I'd give the world to you if I could."

"And I, you." Unable to contain her whimper at the feeling of his firm body holding her in a tight embrace, Christine eagerly slung her arms around Erik's neck for a deep kiss. His hot tongue was a cruel blessing when she knew she couldn't further their time together.

"I could stay with you," Her warm breath tickled his ear in the most enticing way, "we can spend the day in bed, if you'd like." Erik caught her trailing hands before they could untuck his shirt from his pants. It was his turn to whimper at her delectable pout before he forced himself to clear his throat and replace his clothes to a look of propriety.

"Tonight, darling, I promise it. Till then, I love you."

"I love you, too." A gentle kiss was set upon her forehead before she took the steps up and out of the cellar, and toward the dressing room to get into costume for the long day ahead of her.

—

The day dragged on longer than she would have liked, or would have been able to anticipate. The bright lights of the stage felt blinding, her leotard too restricting, the tittering chatter of past-friendships mindless and dull. Christine knew, as she stood awaiting Monsieur Reyer's direction, that she was simply lovesick and grumpy but still she ached to be back in Erik's arms before lunch had even arrived. Rehearsals for the summer production were in full swing. The sets were built and ready, most of the props were painted and set, and the costumes were in the final stages of fittings and yet Christine was still struggling to remember the dances. Her name was called out multiple times from a frustrated Madame Giry during the run of the show and her face flushed with humiliation as she attempted to remain calm in front of the rest of the cast. Madame Giry's group scolding was worse than any private one she had received, when Christine knew the entire corps de ballet was suffering because of her.

When lunch came and the full run of the show was finally completed, Christine sat nursing the blistered balls of her feet as she dunked stale bread into the watery chicken broth she'd been served. The dining hall had once been an abandoned rehearsal studio that the last manager had crammed a bunch of benches into, to replace the original dining hall that'd been worn down by termites and years of misuse. That had all happened before Christine joined the company, but months ago Erik had taken her down to visit the old deteriorating hall so she felt slightly obliged to be grateful for the food stained tables and splinter-threating benches that the company currently used. It was, after all, better to eat off a dirty dish than have a bug floating in your soup.

Oh if only she had known what Erik would become to her. Everything. It was as if the revelation he was so afraid would draw them apart, had bound them in an unbreakable bond of love. She was fully chained to her angel and her only regret was that she had not known that this happiness was possible for her in the past. If only she had known when Papa passed that another would bring her beautiful music, if only she had known that the touches of Madame Rouge's customers would be replaced by the treasured touches of the greatest pleasure, if only she had known when Raoul allowed her to be tossed out onto the streets that there would be a braver man that would not only give her a place to live but a place to call home.

"Christine?" Her curls bounced around her flushed face as her attention snapped up to Meg's expectant face.

"Geez, what is with you lately? It's like you don't even care about being here anymore."

"Oh Meg, you know I care—don't be ridiculous-"

"Then quit wasting our time, do you want me to help you with the intermezzi or not?" If she had admitted that her true desire was to never stand up on her blistered feet again, Meg might have smacked her.

"Of course, Meg. Thank you."

Once she put in the time to learn the dance, it truly wasn't all too complicated and once Meg warmed up to her again, it was even fun to be dancing with friends again. The afternoon portion of rehearsal was split up between costume fittings and running pieces of the show that needed more rehearsal, and so Christine spent much of her time in the wings waiting to be told where to go. She knew she should have been grateful not to feel the distraction of Erik's eyes upon her flesh, but she felt only lonely as she was passed from scene to scene throughout the day. The velvet curtains of his usual haunt, box five, were completely still, the rafters were empty, even the cellar below the dressing room was pitch black and silent. Though she felt silly poking around looking for her lover, it was a horribly foreboding feeling to suddenly realize she had no protection from her angel.

The theatre was much warmer than she remembered. Only a weekend alone with Erik and the real world was suddenly too loud, too bright, too crowded. Her spot in the wings allowed her the peace of forced silence from the stage manager, and a break from the stage lamps, as well as a view out into the empty house. Another tug at her heart came, but this was one she wished had not occurred. Guilt flooded through her for wishing that Raoul's kind smiles and promised waves were absent from the current rehearsal, she wished to push all thoughts of him aside but could not do so when nobody could explain his sudden absence.

It was with that thought that an ear shattering shriek yanked Christine from her reverie. Christine's breath caught in her throat as the fumbling, scuffling sounds of a fist fight pervaded the newly-silent theatre. Even the act onstage paused as La Carlotta stormed into the wing to see what commotion had distracted from her singing, the sight of the red headed soprano barging her way, however, blurred as she was pushed to the side. Panic gripped her heart and she prayed for what she saw to be a trick, but she knew it was no use. Time stood still, only the pounding of her frantic heart could be heard as she watched two burly stagehands grappling a masked figure to center stage. The entire company was silent as the actors set onstage moved out of the way for the struggling men, it did not take long before the stage was crowded with people watching the fight.

"Messieurs, we caught the murderer!"

The pointe shoes trapping Christine's feet couldn't carry her fast enough. She was shoving through the crowd, elbowing her way to the front, horrified at the attention the scene was getting. It was as if her worst nightmare had been ripped from her mind and pushed out onto the stage before her. Excited gasps tore through the tense air of the theatre as the mob surrounding center stage pushed each other for closer looks. When she finally made her way to the front of the crowd, her gasp was uncontainable. Erik was upon his knees between the two workers, blood dripping from his nose onto his wrinkled button-down, mask slightly askew to reveal his thin and bleeding lips. Worried eyes met hers' and she realized, with another sharp inhalation of breath, that there was nothing she could do to help him. The claims were all true, her lover was a murderer and now he had been caught. His double life was all being forced into this one moment where he would be judged for his crimes, not his good intentions.

"What is this? What's going on? Move out of my way!" Firmin led Andre onto the stage with waving arms parting the tight sea of people, he lightly brushed against Christine's shoulder as he made his way to stand in front of the sweating, battered trio of men.

"We found him, Monsieur, in the dressing corner waiting for another prey!" He'd been waiting for her in her usual resting spot, his apologetic glance explained everything she never wanted to hear him say.

"It's the ghost! I know it! It's him!" Meg's thrilled scream brought frustrated tears to Christine's eyes as the crowd became even more rallied up. If only he was a ghost, Christine prayed, then he could disappear into thin air.

"Madame Giry, fetch the police."

"No!" Christine did not register her own yell until all eyes were upon her. Erik gave the slightest shake of his head but her desperate cry could not be taken back.

"Ms. Daae, what is it?" Andre's fatherly tone shook her from her reverie, dragging her eyes from Erik's orbs of despair. The crowd was getting hungry for more gossip, the excitement spreading like wildfire into the crowded wings.

"He—he is injured, perhaps we should treat him, first." There was a collective grumble of annoyance at her lame suggestion before she was completely ignored and Madame Giry was ordered to continue on with her duties of gathering the authorities.

"What were you doing sneaking around our theatre?"

For the first time since his appearance had been discovered, Erik pulled his eyes from Christine's shaking figure and focused, instead, on the gleaming wood of the stage. Briefly, Christine wondered if he'd ever been on the stage before, and if she'd ever have the chance to ask him and find out. Blinking away her tears, Christine waited with bated breath to hear Erik's honey voiced response, but it did not come. He was refusing to speak; the more the managers questioned his slumped form, the quieter the theatre grew with anticipation as Erik remained frozen and silent.

"Who are you, villain? Shall we remove your mask and see?" Pure horror dripped into the pit of her stomach as Erik twitched in his stance.

"Now, now monsieur. You need not fear, whether it happens here or at the station your identity will be revealed and all of France will put a face to the crime. It is only the anticipation of the unmasking that will make it worse." Never before had Christine seen a man look more pathetic or frightened than her Erik did under the scrutiny of the entire theatre.

"Take it off." Firmin's order yanked a gasp from Christine's impossibly dry throat, the crowd around her pushed forward in excitement as a stagehand pulled the clean leather away. She could not help but close her eyes and listen to the disgust of the crowd ruining what she had only just heeled. Gasps and screams nearly covered Firmin's curse; to think only hours ago she had kissed that shriveled face as she found ecstasy in those bound arms. Tears mixed with blood upon that ravaged face as Erik remained still, allowing the audience to take their fill of his horrid scar.

"What happened to you, Monsieur?" Andre's shocked murmur quieted the ballerinas' screams and Christine was forced to wrap her mind around the catastrophe of her two worlds meeting. If only she had remained in bed, if only she could hide him away somewhere safe where no one could speak to him or hurt him ever again!

"God." The admission brought bubbling talk of the Devil throughout the space. It was suddenly hot, obscenely hot, as Erik's wet eyes found hers' in the crowd. The strength she found the night of his first unmasking was back to her like poison in her veins. Suddenly light-headed, Christine felt herself once again pushing to the front of the crowd, a horrified booming voice coming from her lips.

"Give him back his mask, you animals!" Her yell caused Andre to jump and pulled a few surprised murmurs from her coworkers, "What pleasure do you gain from torturing this poor man?" A braveness she had not realized she possessed guided her hands in ripping the mask away from the burlier stagehand. All eyes watched as she knelt onto the cold floor and placed the mask gently onto Erik's heated flesh. The world was blue as a long moment of silent confusion passed over the hovering crowd. Christine ripped the material of her costume's skirt to wipe blood from her lover's battered face.

"Ms. Daae, this is a dangerous man." Ignoring Firmin's words, she ran her fingers through Erik's sweaty locks and brushed the hair out of his eyes, glorying in the way he leaned into her touch.

"No, he is a good man." Christine's whisper was met with a small smile from Erik, but was barely heard over the yells of excitement at Madame Giry's return with a gang of police quick in tow.

"Be good." Tears sprung forth at his words, but she nodded in obedience. An emptiness filled her as the inevitable began to unravel around her, her worst nightmare was spinning before her eyes as her fingers were yanked from Erik's collar. The theatre was freezing and too loud, the familiar faces around her unrecognizable as she struggled to pull breaths into her shuttering chest. The crowd was thinning away from her and thickening toward the herd of police racing up the aisle of the theatre.

At some point, after Erik had been bustled out of sight, she felt a warm hand upon her shoulder. Her eyes had remained sewn to Erik's until she could no longer see him as he was dragged out into the front lobby. The warm hand belonged to the manager Andre, who guided her to her feet from her crouched position with a concerned smile.

"How did you know him, Ms. Daae?" It was not a question of demand, but a genuine interest from the man with grey eyes under the furrowed salt and pepper eyebrows. He stood tall and proper affront her, awaiting her answered with a fatherly air of pride that she found herself reveling in.

"I love him, monsieur, and I quit."


End file.
